


this brief time (at the end of the world)

by knightcaptain



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Assassin's Creed RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Canon Related, Canonical Character Death, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Fix-It, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Kasspasia - Freeform, Loss of Identity, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Power Play, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slash, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2020-09-01 07:02:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 32
Words: 98,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20254093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightcaptain/pseuds/knightcaptain
Summary: I am the runaway Spartan, here to tear down the walls of Athens.Between cutting off cultist heads, searching for her mother, and getting her reputation dragged through Athenian mud, Kassandra has her work cut out for her. And to make it all worse, she must contend with this strange new feeling whenever Aspasia enters the room. Gods damn it all.(Follows in-game events with divergent elements to canon.)





	1. (PROLOGUE)

With the job of a mercenary came several perks. 

One, Kassandra recounted, was the allure of drachmae. Two, she thought, as she closed her eyes, was the lack of allegiance that granted one considerable freedom. And three, as she angled her head to grant Aspasia permission to bite, was the fact that, as a mercenary, you really do meet all sorts of characters while plying your trade. 

The politician was ever so sharp with her tongue - and _ teeth_, Kassandra wanted to groan. She tipped her head back, relishing in this precious pain, and sighed the name that was - until recently - trapped in the middle of her throat. 

“_Aspasia_.”

Bites melted into warm kisses, soothing the skin where Aspasia had… paid the most attention to. A soft hum rose out of her, and then a single instruction: “Lay on your back.”

Kassandra’s chuckle rumbled low, a faint earthquake somewhere in the middle of her chest. _ What a creature_, Aspasia mused. _ More so than Deimos ever could hope to be. _

“Is that an order?”

“Would you obey, if it was,” Aspasia murmured, drawing back to gaze upon the mercenary’s face. The moonlight made her glow, and she looked unreal - more so than usual to Kassandra, at the very least.

“Only if it comes with a bag of drachmae attached to it.”

“Why,” Aspasia’s mouth drew into a slender smile, “I had no idea the mighty Eagle Bearer was also moonlighting as a lowly _ pornai_. Short on bounties, these days?”

Kassandra possessed the audacity to look offended, mouth twisting into a pout. “You wouldn’t even consider me _ hetarae_? Really?”

“You have yet to prove it is so. Now, I shall not repeat myself again.” Aspasia gazed into the mercenary’s golden-brown eyes, smile disappearing. “Lay _ back_.”

Her instruction was, at last, well-received - and _ what is this? No backtalk, either_. Aspasia divested the chuckling mercenary of her layers of armor, eager for a different sort of noise to spill from those lips.

Kassandra could only look on, overdosed with desire, and enjoy the sight of Athens’ most powerful woman like this. A submissive, attentive lover, and nothing else. It only encouraged the mad flames inside her, notwithstanding Aspasia’s very slow, deliberate ministrations across her body - neck, chest, abdomen, oh _ lower, please, gods - _

Seeing Aspasia’s head nestled between Kassandra’s quivering thighs like _ that _ made her whimper. They’d done it so many times by now, spent countless nights wrapped up in each other, but tonight held the weight of sentimentality like never before. It all looked and felt different to Kassandra.

Farewell was a bitter thing, she mused, and laid her head back. Her hands were tightly wound around Aspasia’s, with a tremble that had nothing at all to do with the cool, Athenian night air.

Yet this sense of uncertainty scattered the moment Aspasia made her move. The world had suddenly fallen silent, as speechless as Kassandra was. And as she closed her eyes, she swore she could still see the stars. _There_ was a tongue that knew exactly where to go, hands that held hers with surprising strength, and the faint, heady scent of myrrh that she loved. Everything culminated in a pool of heat in her abdomen, and aching desire clung to every inch of her soul. It almost hurt.

"_Aspasia _…" Birdsong. Prayer. It was all Kassandra could manage, reduced to ruin.

Her lover hummed, a reassuring sound, almost as if to say _ yes, here I am. _

Above them, the night sky was littered with millions of stars that looked to be winking in glee on behalf of the Eagle Bearer.


	2. By the Fates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I find, Kassandra, that we are in short supply of people who do the right thing.”

* * *

**PART I**

* * *

_This is what I see, and what troubles me._  
_I look on all sides, and everywhere I see nothing _  
_but obscurity. Nature offers me nothing that is_  
_ not a matter of doubt and disquiet._

\- Blaise Pascal, "Pensées"

***

_Six months earlier _

Kassandra just could not stop herself from tugging and pawing at the dress wrapped around her, and only grew more irritable by the minute. 

The symposium was persisting well into the night. Drunken poets and playwrights filled the air with a cacophony of laughter, slurred recitals of works yet unheard of. The spirit of grandeur that permeated the home of Perikles could only be fueled by the sort of boldness one found at the bottom of an emptied wine bottle.

It was all so _ suffocating_. 

To his credit, Sokrates attempted to distract her from her discomfort, but his idea of a "hearty conversation" soon proved to be too arduous for the tired mind, and she slunk away when Aristophanes approached for another tipsy debate (or argument, who could tell), only to end up draping himself over Sokrates and mumbling senseless things. So that was that.

She crossed the courtyard, frown firmly set in place, and looked to the table of food for something to lighten her spirits, but found nothing. Just plates wiped clean, and bowls empty of the fruits she’d been looking forward to busying herself with.

The mercenary was ready to storm out and find Phobos for a long ride into the night when Phoibe’s voice cut through the noise, announcing a long-awaited arrival. Briefly, Kassandra dropped the idea of stuffing her face, and turned to look.

And it seemed as though the entire courtyard had followed suit. The collective was silenced into the barest murmur; no longer did the sound of high-bred Athenian laughter pierce the night air. 

When Kassandra laid her eyes on the woman named Aspasia, it was a sight she could never have prepared herself for. Dark, knowing eyes met hers from such a great distance, and yet held her firmly in place as though hands of steel had clapped themselves around her ankles.

_ Why, _ a voice rose in Kassandra’s mind, _ if it isn’t Athena herself. _

“For a Spartan, you clean up well,” Aspasia said, with a voice smoother than silk. Kassandra couldn’t recall the moment she crossed the ocean of Athenians, to place herself in the presence of this one.

Her gaze almost devoured Kassandra whole, but the Eagle Bearer held herself together with admirable effort - and let no weakness slip through in her clipped response.

“I’m no Spartan.”

Aspasia hummed, thoughtful, and lowered her gaze for a brief moment. Kassandra drank in the view: the perfect line of kohl around those haunting eyes, not a hair out of place, and a striking sort of beauty that commanded her features. 

The woman was a marvel and an impossibility, all at once.

“I suppose you’re right,” she finally said after what felt like an eternity, and glanced up at Kassandra once more. “You’re not a Spartan at all.”

*

The next time Kassandra saw Aspasia, it was by chance. She had come looking for Perikles himself, who had presented her with a lead on a group of cultists skulking about the perimeter of Greater Athens. Athenians who frequently entered and left the heart of Attika confirmed Kassandra’s suspicions - it was a game of kidnap and ransom, to bleed the nobility dry of drachmae.

Without a moment’s hesitation, she got to work right away. The hunt, after several days, proved to be fruitful after getting into the good graces of the local blacksmith that worked on the edge of the main city. He knew regular faces like old friends, and pinpointed those who piqued no small measure of suspicion.

Kassandra tailed the unfamiliar visitors to back and forth from the docks, and eventually, by some stroke of luck or Ikaros' keen sense, uncovered an underground operation led by cultists. Granted, they were only minor underlings and lieutenants, but she’d scraped enough info to piece together the identity of her next possible target.

Despite the dreary, rainy day she'd just been through, it was still better news than anything else. 

Kassandra emerged from the lower level of his residence, taking two steps at a time to emerge out on the balcony where he frequented, expecting to see the familiar silhouette of the king in his usual stance: back ramrod straight, and hands clasped behind his back. In his place, however, stood Aspasia. 

Her back was turned as she gazed out across all of Attika. In the auburn evening light, Kassandra had to admit, Athens looked like it was sculpted from pure gold. Anyone could lose themselves in this view. Even a Spartan.

“How long will you stand there?” came Aspasia’s voice, bringing Kassandra out of her reverie.

“I… just got here,” Kassandra said. When Aspasia turned to cast a glance over her shoulder, the mercenary took a half step forward, wringing her hands. “I was looking for Perikles.”

Aspasia managed a smile, slight. She turned, gesturing invitingly. “He is at the parthenon. Come.”

Like a moth to flame, Kassandra obliged, and closed the gap between them. Aspasia was half a head shorter than she was, and yet she felt the stateswoman commanded more of a presence and aura. 

“Look.” Aspasia’s gaze returned to the city spread before them. “The birthplace of democracy. One of Greece’s finest jewels, wouldn’t you agree?”

Kassandra took her time to take in the view, hands folded behind her back. “It was breathtaking when I first arrived.” She let out a small breath, stealing a glance at the woman beside her. “It still is.”

The corner of Aspasia’s mouth lifted. “I should be glad you don’t consider yourself a red-blooded Spartan,” she said, “or else you would be raring to tear down these walls.”

“I think,” Kassandra responded, slow, “I’ve more than proved myself to be an ally by now.”

“You have.” Aspasia lifted a hand to tuck stray curls behind her ear. “Until someone offers you a larger offering of drachmae, I imagine.”

Kassandra shook her head, partly to will herself to fix her gaze elsewhere. “You know I hunt the Cult of Kosmos. This has gone beyond riches and payment.”

“And vengeance is what drives you?”

“For what happened to my family, yes.” Kassandra folded her arms, and looked to the horizon, where the sun was sinking slow. “And for the safety of Greece.”

At the corner of her vision, she could see Aspasia turning to look at her. “Little wonder why they call you hero, Eagle Bearer. I am sure the nobility will remember the favor you have done them today.”

Kassandra glanced at Aspasia, an eyebrow raised. “Word was sent ahead of me, then.”

“But of course,” Aspasia nodded. “It was my lead, after all. I merely relayed the information to Perikles to give to you, and set you on the right course.”

“And you didn’t tell me yourself, because…”

A smile graced Aspasia’s lips, and Kassandra almost regretted prying. “You are Perikles’ associate more than mine, are you not? You would trust his word a greater deal.”

“I would trust yours,” Kassandra said softly. Her gaze dropped to the ground. “You… have already done me a great favor.”

It didn’t take Aspasia long to realise what she meant. “You speak of Phoibe, under my wing.”

“Yes.” The Eagle Bearer looked up, and there was a new energy in her eyes - not a trick of the evening light, Aspasia had to tell herself. “Ever since I left Kephallonia, I thought about her every night. Prayed to the gods to keep her safe. And,” Kassandra gestured absently at the city, “here she is. Safe, as I’d hoped.”

Aspasia’s gaze softened into a distant, searching look. “You truly love her.”

“I do,” Kassandra admitted. “And knowing you have kept her safe all this time, from the streets… it is as good as any reason to trust you, Aspasia.”

“Never let it be said that the Eagle Bearer is unfamiliar with gratitude.” Aspasia took a tentative step forward, and touched a palm to the side of Kassandra's face. The mercenary stilled as Aspasia caressed her cheek. Tender. “I owe you a great deal of thanks, myself. For helping Perikles, for cleansing Attika of corruption and poison. Kassandra.”

Golden eyes flickered up in response to her call, hazy with confusion. “It’s nothing. Just... the right thing to do.”

Aspasia’s lips parted with no real response at the ready, as she watched Kassandra lean into her touch. It was a divine moment she had no desire to interrupt. And then, those eyes fluttered to a close. Something leaped in her chest, and at last, she remembered her voice.

“I find, Kassandra, that we are in short supply of people who do the right thing,” she murmured, committing to memory the softness of the Eagle Bearer’s features. _Could a killer look like this?_

“So I am glad that it was you that the Fates brought to us.”

Kassandra covered her hand with her own - much larger in comparison. Aspasia could feel the callused skin despite the gentle touch.

“I don’t always agree with the Fates,” Kassandra said, a ghost of a smile on her lips, “but maybe just this once, I shall.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In-game dialogue may not be word-for-word, if included at all. The line breaks in Pascal's writing are my own, and are not included in his original text.


	3. Horsing Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And there it was again, all over the woman’s face—a strange, searching look about her.

“Exquisite. Simply marvellous,” Perikles breathed, gaze transfixed.

The beast that stood before him held its head high, an air of confidence about it, as though it possessed a certain awareness about its coveted, highly prized status. When Perikles approached, the horse began to bristle in its stall, mane swishing - before finally settling and acquiescing without complaint. 

Perikles stroked the side of its neck in slow, gentle touches. From where she stood, Kassandra could see the beginnings of a smile appear on the king’s visage.

“It is a fine creature.” Aspasia inclined her head, directing a furtive glance at Kassandra with a small smile. “Wouldn’t you agree, Eagle Bearer?”

Kassandra nodded, slight. The horse was tall and towered easily over Perikles, fur shining in the morning sun. Whenever it moved or shifted its weight, its muscles rippled with untold power. Here was a creature bred for hard work and toiling. Anyone with good sense would know immediately that the horse was meant to go the distance.

“It's certainly well-fed."

“I imagine you must have seen your fair share of worthy beasts such as this one,” Perikles said, his attention still very much on the horse, which had since lowered its head to allow the king to stroke the length of its nose. It chortled lightly, pleased by the gentle touch.

“But none as magnificent as this,” Kassandra smiled, “But don’t tell Phobos.”

Aspasia’s laughter rang pleasantly from beside her. “This young one came from the southern isles, where a seasoned horsemaster breeds stallions for the Athenian military,” she explained. “It is a gift to the king, and a worthy one at that.”

“I am an old man,” Perikles said, finally turning away from the now quiet horse, “and fully undeserving of such youth and power. My associates advise me to use him to ride to my engagements, and make all of Attika weep with envy. Tell me, Kassandra, is such a display of grandeur necessary?”

"Well..."

“It is hardly envy we want to evoke in the people, Perikles,” Aspasia chided gently, saving Kassandra from the burden of deciding for the king. “It is respect. Admiration. It will go a long way, especially considering Kleon’s very public efforts of late to discredit you further.”

Perikles shook his head. “Kleon has always challenged my authority, but the people know me, Aspasia. A horse cannot bolster my reputation any more than it can win the battlefield on behalf of the men who ride it.”

Aspasia exchanged a glance with Kassandra, half-smiling. “Ever the orator,” she said fondly.

“It is a gift,” Kassandra grinned. Never mind that Aspasia had not yet left her side since they convened in the early hours to come here - or that she was the one who requested her presence to accompany the king and his paramour. She was starting to think she might be giving it far too much thought. “I’m not one for words, but I know that language and speech can move thousands.”

“Mightier than the sword, you might say?” Aspasia made no effort to hide the teasing in her voice. Kassandra felt the briefest flutter in her chest, and fixed her gaze forward onto Perikles instead. 

“In some situations.” There was a strange heat creeping up her neck. “But let’s change the subject; Sokrates might overhear and start getting ideas that I would be participating in his next debate.”

The king laughed, a gentle sound, and turned back to the horse a final time. He seemed to be murmuring something like a secret, meant for its ears only, when an Athenian messenger appeared in a flurry, huffing and puffing like he’d just braved all of the Olympics alone.

“My king,” he started, and bent over slightly to catch his breath. “A message!”

“Speak,” Perikles waved a hand, stepping away from the stall.

“Sokrates wishes for your presence at the Parthenon. It appears that the general Kleon is riling up worshippers and citizens once more…”

A visible scowl was making its way onto Aspasia’s usually refined features. “And he persists to this day.”

“He has a passion for Athens,” Perikles said, stepping towards them both. “Stay here with the Eagle Bearer, my dear. I will not be long.”

“You’re certain?” Aspasia reached out to clasp her hands around his. Kassandra's gaze followed the movement, and lingered there.

Perikles’ features crinkled as he smiled, full of reassurance. “I am. I shall send for you as soon as I am finished with business.”

Kassandra watched Perikles depart, and only after he disappeared into the distance with his messenger in tow did she realise that meant she was now alone with Aspasia. 

Overhead, the morning sun took its highest point and seemed to be glaring down at the mercenary. She shielded her eyes as she looked up, not quite certain what to say now that they had both been left alone.

Aspasia, on the other hand, seemed to have other ideas. “What are the chances I will survive if I attempt to ride this creature?” she asked suddenly.

“I…” Kassandra slowly turned her head. There was a wicked sort of excitement to Aspasia’s expression now, as though she’d just been freed from some unpleasant, unspoken thing. “I don’t know about that. The horse looks young - and wild, still. It might be dangerous.”

“Ah,” Aspasia took steps towards the stall. The horse’s attention was now trained on her, as though waiting to see what this woman would do next. The stateswoman gazed back at the creature, seemingly mystified. “But what have I to fear, with an equally dangerous _ misthios _here to protect me?”

Kassandra swallowed with effort, noticing that her mouth was suddenly very, very dry. The afternoon heat was in full swing; Kassandra could feel the heat emanating from the soil upon which she stood. Or was that something else entirely?

“That’s going to be difficult, fighting a horse,” she managed. But Aspasia’s expression was now firmly set, chiseled into perfect determination. She unlocked the stall door with a flick of her wrist, her gaze never once leaving the Eagle Bearer.

"Well then, it seems you will have to make an attempt on my account."

*

Kassandra knew instantly that her life would be on the line if anything happened to Aspasia. And yet, like someone else was pulling her strings, she hoisted the woman up onto the Arravani horse anyway. The creature, thankfully, held a measure of intelligence and made no move to kick up a fuss - or kick Aspasia off its back - and instead watched Kassandra with a curious look as though it, too, was part of the torment.

“Oh,” Aspasia let out a short breath, gingerly placing her hands on both sides of the horse’s neck. “This is thrilling.”

“I’ll bet,” Kassandra muttered, and briefly stepped away to find some rope. She returned with haste, but soon saw that there was no need to worry. The horse was still obediently standing where she left it, with a very pleased Aspasia sitting atop it. 

The rope went around the rider’s waist, more for an emergency maneuver than anything else, should the worst happen. Losing the horse would most likely be of little concern to Perikles, but all of Athens adored Aspasia, and Kassandra was not about to earn herself a bounty because of carelessness.

Aspasia regarded Kassandra with no small amount of amusement. “How chivalrous, tying a woman up so roughly,” she said, the corners of her mouth lifting. 

“I am not-” Kassandra looked up at the woman, and found those dark eyes to be far too affecting. “I’m as gentle as they come.”

“I’m sure.” There was a lilt in her voice. Meaningful, somehow. Aspasia kicked lightly with her heel, and the young horse sprang to life. Its trot was eager but disciplined where Kassandra had expected a mad rush for freedom. Surely this was a testament to the horsemaster’s fine training and care. 

They took the time to traverse the full expanse of the stables, making a slow perimeter as Aspasia stroked the animal’s neck to keep it calm and content. Kassandra gripped the rope without once letting go, and stole a couple of glances every now and then. 

There was a wide smile on Aspasia’s face, and she basked in the sun with a certain lightness to her now. Quite unlike the woman who commanded attention, fear, and admiration at a stuffy symposium, filled with men who either laughed behind her back or willingly laid themselves at her feet. 

After a long stretch of silence, save for the crunch of soil beneath surefooted hooves, Aspasia finally spoke.

“I thought you might have found an excuse to escape by now.”

Kassandra nearly jumped out of her skin. And they said nothing could take the Eagle Bearer by surprise.

“I’m just… not busy today,” was the response she finally managed, much to Aspasia’s amusement. 

It wasn’t the truth, but it wasn’t a lie either - Barnabas had told her last night that he wanted a couple of days to bring the Adrestia back to tip top condition before they sailed for Korinth. Kassandra obliged, knowing the old man wouldn’t be able to take another accidental rip in the sails again. He feared Poseidon far too much to take anything lightly when it came to the ship’s health.

“Oh, I see,” Aspasia said, eyes twinkling down at Kassandra. “And what better way to spend a day of rest than ferrying around someone like me?”

“You are not just anybody, and…” Kassandra felt her face flush as Aspasia’s gaze lingered. Her chin was set in a straight line, somewhere caught between offense and surprise. “You’re mocking me.”

Aspasia touched a hand to her chest, scandalised. “I would never. I do know who I’m dealing with, Eagle Bearer!”

_ And I feel like I don’t know who _ I’m _ dealing with, _Kassandra thought. Before she could muster a response, the stallion jerked mid-step, startled by something unseen. It reared powerfully on its hind legs, its neigh shrill in the air, and easily towered over Kassandra now. The motion had been so sudden that Aspasia barely had time to react. Her arm flailed out in Kassandra's direction, and she called for the Eagle Bearer in panic. 

“_Kassandra! _” The rope became taut, all of a sudden, and the mercenary immediately pivoted. Aspasia's weight yanked against her, and she took a deep breath.

She dug a heel into the ground, steadying herself, just as the stallion kicked off on its own. Then she moved, quick as the wind, and stretched out her arms. In one swift motion, and with years of practiced balance, Kassandra caught Aspasia just in time without falling over herself. 

Aspasia, clearly flushed and still heaving from the adrenaline, had wound her arms tightly around the mercenary’s neck, with such surprising strength that Kassandra had no choice but to lean her head close to avoid a neck-breaking. This close, Kassandra felt almost guilty of something - something she hadn't yet done. Aspasia smelled of myrrh, of so many sweet things. 

_Malake._

“Are you all right?” Kassandra asked, averting her gaze. She could feel warm puffs of breath against the side of her face and willed herself _ not _to look, for one reason or another.

“I’m… fine, I think. Thank you.” Aspasia’s gaze bore right into the side of her face, and finally Kassandra turned her head. 

And there it was again, all over the woman’s face - a strange, searching look about her, as though she had lost something that could only be found in the mercenary’s expression. The air between them grew heavy, and then nearly unbearable. Kassandra retrieved the rest of her composure and remembered to finally lower Aspasia back down, gently, until her feet touched solid ground.

“That’s good.”

Once Aspasia regained her sense of balance and stopped swaying on her feet, she released her hold around Kassandra’s neck. The two women took a step away from each other immediately, as though a great invisible force had wrenched them apart.

Kassandra couldn’t help but notice a keen, emptying feeling, growing in the pit of her stomach. 

Aspasia tucked stray curls of dark hair behind her ear, and cleared her throat. “So it would seem the young thing is still easily skittish.”

“I’m not-” Kassandra stopped herself before she could finish digging her own _ malakas _grave. She knew Aspasia was looking at her now, and so chose to burn a hole into the ground with a pointed stare. “Yes. Yes it is.”

Aspasia clapped a hand over her mouth, but it was fruitless. The way her eyes crinkled gave the hidden laugh away, and Kassandra groaned internally. And yet, the sight of the politician still neatly bound by a rope around the waist was just as hilarious, and a touch of hysteria descended upon Kassandra. The two women burst into laughter, a rapturous sound cutting into the still afternoon air, and turned quite a few heads of passing Athenian soldiers.

As they turned to leave, Kassandra caught sight of the horse trotting back into its stall as though it hadn’t spooked itself over nothing mere minutes before.

The Eagle Bearer could have sworn catching a mischievous glint in its eye. Perhaps it was a trick of the harsh sunlight. It had better fucking be.


	4. The Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She thought of the singular night when she first heard that voice wrap itself around her name. The symposium. The way the night air had stilled, and the winds had died down, as if to make way for something mystical. Something beyond mortal understanding.

“_Kassandra… Kassandra…_”

At first, the voice was a mere distant wave in a vast ocean. And she was on the shore of a beach somewhere, stirring awake as her eyes fluttered weakly, opening and closing, catching glimpses of Ikaros circling her beneath the sun. Whenever she felt herself drift away, fatigue claiming her once more, the water would wash over her lightly and seep into her tunic.

And the voice, calling her name and surging with emotion, would return.

“_Kassandra._”

Instinctively, Kassandra recognised it: the familiar, rosy lilt, the way her name curls so delicately with practiced care, as though this wasn’t the name of a traitor of Sparta, of a lowly _ misthios _with nothing to offer the world but bloodied hands.

She thought of the singular night when she first heard that voice wrap itself around her name. The symposium. The way the night air had stilled, and the winds had died down, as if to make way for something mystical. Something beyond mortal understanding.

Laying on the shore, Kassandra listened to the waves - then called out to the voice.

“Aspasia?”

She opened her eyes and squinted against the sun. Ikaros was nowhere to be seen, but a figure loomed over her. Yet she felt not even a drop of fear.

The woman lowered herself to a crouch. Those dark eyes were filled with a strange light, but gods, were they ever so beautiful.

“_Kassandra_,” Aspasia said in a soft voice. “Wake up.”

“I have,” she mumbled, rolling her head slightly. “Is it really you?”

”I am. Now get up.”

”But...”

Kassandra blinked, and then blinked again. The image of Aspasia was fading in and out of view, and the corners of her vision swirled. In her hand was a cultist mask, and she was lifting it as if to wear it. The gesture jarred Kassandra, and a chill descended upon her like a fog. And then Aspasia’s voice turned to rust, screeching against her ear, and plaguing the Eagle Bearer with a single instruction.

_ Wake up. _

_ Wake up! Kassandra! KASSANDRA! _

“KASSANDRAAAAAAA! **HADES, GET AWAY FROM HER**!”

The command broke through the fog of her mind. Kassandra bolted awake, as fast as lightning, and in one wild arm motion sent the covers flying. The beach shattered, falling away into the depths of her mind, and she was back in Attika once more when she opened her eyes. No longer did the ocean air, striking and salty, fill her nostrils.

By her side was not Aspasia, but Phoibe. The girl’s brow seemed permanently creased in irritation, and she was waving a bundle of _ something _wrapped in what looked to be really high-end linen… or expensive silk.

How could a street urchin get her hands on something like that?

“Gods be damned, Phoibe, did you steal?” Kassandra groaned, rubbing her face rapidly with both hands. Her words came out in a blubbering mess, but Phoibe understood her just fine. She slapped the mysterious item down on the bed with a huff. Kassandra felt its considerable weight, and knew it was no simple trinket or item.

“I don’t have time for stealing, not with what I’ve been doing, running all over Athens for Aspasia,” she said, puffing her chest out. “This is a gift, and you were so deep asleep I thought you died!”

“I almost _died_ from your _ malakas _screeching in my ear.”

Phoibe tutted, crossing her arms. For a brief moment she looked far older than she truly was, and Kassandra suddenly became acutely aware of how far they both were from Kephallonia. Her heart swelled at that realisation.

“This is the thanks I get for a personal delivery,” Phoibe said, as though there might have been a third person in the house to commiserate with her.

Kassandra finally turned her attention to the bundle, and reached for it. Unraveling the silk - was that _actually_ the scent of myrrh? - revealed it to be a finely crafted dagger, white and gold and glimmering in the sunlight streaming in through the window. Its hilt was a masterwork, and upon it was a simple inscription, engraved to perfection. _ Eagle Bearer. _ The blade was the sharpest she’d ever seen, and light bounced off perfect steel. In it, Kassandra saw her own reflection staring back at her in awe.

“Where did you get this,” were the first words that left her. Phoibe tilted her head, as though the answer was right there in the midst of them. It took Kassandra another moment to make the connection. _ Who else could have sent her? _

“It was Aspasia, wasn’t it?”

“Duh.” Phoibe padded over to flop down beside Kassandra, and peered down at the dagger with an interested energy about her. “Looks like it could cut through anything.”

“It could.” Kassandra turned the weapon over in her hands slowly. Despite herself, a slight grin made its way onto her face.

“She told me to mention a horse,” Phoibe quipped, after a brief moment of silence, “Though I don’t know what that’s about.”

Kassandra bit back a laugh that was swelling in her chest, and shook her head.

“Aspasia fell off a horse yesterday.”

“No!” Phoibe's jaw dropped. “You’re lying!”

“I swear I am not,” said Kassandra, and she leaned as she dropped her voice into a conspiratorial whisper, “but breathe a word of this to her and I will have your head.”

Phoibe lifted her chin at Kassandra, tongue darting out between her lips. “We’ll see!”

That earned her a light smack on the back of her head, and she touched a hand where Kassandra had lightly struck, nose wrinkling in mock irritation. Kassandra laid the dagger aside, making a mental note to give it a test run in the afternoon, and turned back again to Phoibe, who had an expectant look on her face.

“Don’t you have to report back?” Kassandra asked. She couldn’t imagine Aspasia was the type of woman to linger or waste time, nor would she allow the same for the people who served her.

Phoibe leapt to her feet, “I’m so glad you asked. Aspasia let me have the day off!”

Kassandra raised an eyebrow. A gesture like that felt more like an expense on Aspasia’s part - after all, Phoibe had, in recent times, become her most reliable little helper and servant. Surely the woman would have need of her in no time?

Something struck her as she thought this, and the memory of her second meeting with Aspasia surfaced.

_ You love her. _

There had been such a softness to the woman’s gaze, and Kassandra realised she had come to a new understanding about the Eagle Bearer and the child that night. This was her way of showing it.

_ She allowed this, _ Kassandra thought, _ for me. _

Phoibe was now waving her hand in front of Kassandra’s face, apparently having said something that the mercenary had entirely missed, lost in her own private musings. “What?” Kassandra blinked at the girl several times. “I didn’t catch that last bit.”

“I said,” Phoibe jerked her head towards the doorway, “let’s go out to the market because I’m starving! And then maybe we can go hunting with Ikaros, eh?”

Kassandra set her mouth in a hard line, despite the joy blooming within her as she rose to her feet. 

“You can forget about that last bit. Now, let me get dressed.”

*

Kassandra dangled small pouch of drachmae at the cook. “We’ll take two servings of the lamb and rice.”

“Three,” Phoibe chimed in, just as the man reached out a hand. He gave Kassandra a light shrug after ascertaining that Phoibe was serious.

“Three?” Kassandra glanced down at the girl by her side. “What are you, the Minotaur?”

Phoibe snapped her fingers. “Hey. I’m a growing kid. You don’t want me to tell Aspasia you starved me against my will, do you?”

The Eagle Bearer huffed through her nose, and reluctantly pulled out several more drachmae to make payment. “I’m not afraid of her,” she muttered, idly watching the cook get to work. Around them, an assortment of smells and aromas filled the air - but both Kassandra and Phoibe had ultimately been drawn to the lamb, hungering for the same thing.

“You paid, didn’t you?” Phoibe drawled, unconvinced.

“Because _ I’m _ starving. Not because _ you _ need more meat on your bones.” Kassandra regarded Phoibe, and swore the girl had gotten taller since the last time they had seen each other. “Living with Aspasia must be nice.”

“Jealous?” Phoibe’s eyes shifted towards Kassandra, meeting her gaze with a meaningful look. Kassandra folded her arms, and subconsciously straightened her back.

“Of. What.”

“Of me,” Phoibe said simply, “Living with Aspasia.”

“Because she is such a great host?” Kassandra attempted, putting on as neutral a face as possible. But Phoibe had always been quick-witted and sharp, and always caught on.

“Because I think you think she’s amazing.”

_ Not wrong, but. _“I don’t know, Phoibe. I haven’t seen her fight a horse or anything like that.”

The girl’s features scrunched up, as though there was something foul-smelling nearby that she’d caught a whiff of. “What kind of weird fantasies do you have?”

Kassandra slapped a hand to her forehead, and dragged it down the length of her face. “_Malake_, that is not what I meant!”

Phoibe let out a heinous little cackle, but abruptly stopped to duck as Kassandra took a real swipe at her, narrowly missing the top of her head.

“You’re so _ touchy_,” she grinned up at Kassandra, with all the audacity in the world. “It’s weird.”

“You’ll be the death of me,” the mercenary responded flatly.

“Count on it.” Phoibe was no longer laughing at her, having turned her attention back towards the cook. Their three servings of lamb and rice were here, and she wordlessly snatched it from the cook before taking off, with Kassandra swiftly in tow.

The market that early afternoon was fairly busy, with traders from distant islands showcasing their exotic wares and competing with the local Athenian merchants, who gave them no quarter. Their shouts and calls would burst into the air, clashing with one another and vied for the consideration of passing locals with matching levels of fervor. Every so often, people would pause to browse, drifting from stall to stall, and the real battle would begin.

Bargaining was a sort of art, and often tested the wits of merchants and their assistants. Kassandra had never fancied herself as a person who enjoyed shopping, but felt impressed at the way they pitched their products with gusto, as though you’d be hard pressed to find this particular _ pithoi _anywhere else in Greece.

“It can hold all the grain in the world and never wear out! Crafted by a master potter in Mykonos!”

“This _ aryballoi _once belonged to Helen herself! I found it during my travels, not so long ago…”

The air seemed to thrum with all this energy. Kassandra found herself feeling relieved when Phoibe found a suitable spot for them, quiet and away from all that bustling energy. Here, against the great wall that stood in defense of Greater Athens, the two friends settled beneath the comforting shade of a sizable olive tree.

They wiped the food cleanly in record time, and when she was finished, Phoibe settled against Kassandra’s form and let out a contented sigh.

“This is the life!” she announced, throwing her hands up towards the sky, as though communing with Zeus himself.

Kassandra rolled her eyes, though she was smiling. “You must not have many days off.”

“Not ever! Not that I’m complaining,” Phoibe added, gaze darting up at Kassandra. “I like what I do. And I like Aspasia. She’s nice.”

“That’s good,” said Kassandra. “As long as she takes care of you.”

Phoibe nodded, making a slight noise of approval. “It’s fun. I get to learn all the time, and I meet so many different people.” She leaned a bit more of her weight against Kassandra again, craning her neck to peer through the leaves swaying overhead. “She’s also been teaching me how to read and write.”

“Oh?” Kassandra tilted her head. “Are you thinking of taking up the job of a poet?”

“Me, a poet!” Phoibe clapped her hands, and made some sort of hysterical sound that was caught between a shriek and a laugh. “That’s crazy. I’m gonna be like you, of course.”

“Like me.”

“The _ second _Eagle Bearer from Kephallonia,” Phoibe added, almost vibrating with excitement. “After you teach me how to use daggers and swords, obviously.”

The mercenary snorted softly. “You assume I am willing to do such a thing.”

Phoibe’s eyes went to Kassandra. “Not this again,” she groaned.

“You’re not old enough,” chided Kassandra, without heat, “So I don’t have to tell you not run into dangerous situations without a second thought. It’s good to be cautious and wise, you know. That’s life-saving stuff.”

“Life-saving stuff is knowing how to stick the bad guys with the pointy end. That’s what _you_ always do. Save people and defeat the bullies.”

Kassandra shook her head. “You know, perhaps Aspasia _is_ onto something. Maybe she’ll turn you into a poet, a playwright - or Perikles’ next scribe.” She smirked. “Keep you so busy, you can’t get away and get yourself killed.”

Phoibe answered this with a nudge of her elbow, right into Kassandra’s ribs. It tickled more than it hurt, but Kassandra pretended to wince in pain and let out a strangled gasp. “Ow.”

“I can take care of myself,” Phoibe said, rolling her eyes. She saw right through Kassandra. “That’s how I got here all by myself, you know.”

“I know, I know.” Kassandra touched the top of Phoibe’s head lightly, and felt the girl lean into it. “It’s not wrong to worry. You’re like me, but way smaller.”

“Give it time.” Phoibe winked up at her friend. “Then maybe you’ll take me seriously one day.”

Kassandra snorted, lifting her hand. “That’s just a maybe.”

*

They parted ways after touring the marketplace and getting some dessert, but not before Phoibe left Kassandra another message: Alkibiades was hosting a social event later that evening, and he requested the Eagle Bearer show up to grace the occasion. Kassandra dreaded the thought of slipping into another one of Aspasia’s symposium dresses, and was thus relieved when she saw the sun making its slow arc towards the horizon.

She would make the excuse that she had no time whatsoever to procure the right attire, but didn’t want to stand Alkibiades up, anyway.

“How _ so _ very thoughtful,” said the nephew of Perikles in response to her excuse, and openly undressed Kassandra with his eyes as he stood by the doorway of his personal estate. “Well, you still look like an _ absolute _meal all on your own, so do come in.”

Kassandra smiled weakly and followed after the statesman, pretending not to notice the way he was deliberately swaying his hips from side to side - a display meant only for her eyes, no doubt. 

Inside, festivities were well in order, and half the guests already looked drunk beyond all help. Kassandra stepped over the crumpled form of a man who had collapsed, empty chalice still in his grasp, and shook her head at the sorry sight.

“I’ll have to deal with some minor problem in the kitchens,” Alkibiades said, turning to face her, “but I’ll be back for you, _ misthios_. Try not to wander too far. I hear Euripides is making a _ bold _attempt to kiss whoever is within arm’s reach tonight.” And with that, he winked at her and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Kassandra to her own devices.

“Don’t you stick out like a sore thumb,” a voice came from somewhere behind her. 

Kassandra didn’t need to look to know who it was. Aspasia offered her a chalice, freshly topped up with wine, as she drew to the Eagle Bearer’s side. “I am surprised you came,” she said.

“Why, because I’m just a stiff, boring _misthios_?” Kassandra accepted the wine and took a quick sip, and took the chance to divert her gaze from Aspasia’s face momentarily.

Aspasia waited until she lowered the cup, and touched Kassandra’s chin. Gently, she steered the Eagle Bearer’s attention back to her. Her gaze took on an added depth when their eyes met again.

“I hardly think that of you. Now, don’t be rude,” she said, lips drawing into a charming smile, “and tell me how you like the gift I sent.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pithoi - ancient clay pots that stood up to the height of a grown human, used to store olive oil and grain
> 
> aryballoi - perfume flasks


	5. When Athens Falls Fast Asleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And so, you remain unknowable to me. Daughter of Myrrine.”

The gesture had not gone unnoticed by Alkibiades’ guests, and several heads turned: aristocrats from every corner of Athens and the many playwrights the nephew of Perikles had taken a liking to, all murmuring and chittering amongst themselves - those who remained sober enough to, at least - and trying to make sense of what they were seeing.

Kassandra’s shiver had nothing at all to do with embarrassment or feeling cold. The feeling slithered down her back and then up again, and then it was gone as quickly as it had come when Aspasia withdrew her hand.

“It’s a beautiful, deadly thing,” she said, remembering the fine craftsmanship that had left her speechless.

Aspasia’s smile widened. “And you enjoy beautiful, deadly things?”

“On occasion.” Kassandra lifted the chalice to her lips, taking a mouthful of wine. The liquid’s strong taste cut through her more easily than she would have liked. The personal choice of Alkibiades himself, no doubt, eager to leave not a single guest standing on their feet by the end of the night.

“I see,” Aspasia said, decidedly amused by the mercenary’s clipped response. She swept a brief gaze over their surroundings. “Shall we find a more quiet spot? It appears many eyes are on us tonight.”

Kassandra drained the last of her wine, and felt her head begin to swim a little. Feeling more than just a little vulnerable and exposed, she nodded, and followed after Aspasia. The courtyard melted away, and so did the sound of drunken shouts and singing as Alkibiades’ party entered into full swing, as they took a quiet corridor deeper into the estate.

It was a sizable place, just slightly smaller than Perikles’ home. Here, where they’d found the steps leading up to the topmost floor, it was quiet and free of prying eyes. Aspasia ascended the steps with Kassandra wordlessly beside her, a stretch of companionable silence that neither women felt needed to be interrupted.

They emerged in the cool night air, and Aspasia made her way over to what appeared to be Alkibiades’ lounging spot. A luxurious carpet of Persian origin, adorned with a pattern that Kassandra could only describe as exquisite, laid before the women, with soft pillows that invited a sense of ease and relaxation just by looking at them.

“Here,” Aspasia said softly, now that there was no need to raise their voices over wine-driven yammering, and settled down on the thick rug. Looking up at the Eagle Bearer, she lightly patted the spot beside her.

Kassandra obliged, and sank into some pillows as she leaned back. From here, they had a charming view of Athens in the night. In the distance, little tufts of flame were flickering, lighting the many sprawling pathways and roads that made up the very veins and lifeways of the great city. In the distance, the silhouette of the Parthenon stood stark above it all. She couldn’t help but marvel at the sight. Those lights, from where she sat, looked like stars scattered across the sky, and they were gods walking among them in Olympus.

“I trust you had a lovely day with Phoibe.”

It wasn’t a question. Kassandra was more than certain Phoibe would have told Aspasia all about it - the stroll through the market, their hearty feast - by now. The memory brought a smile to the mercenary’s face, warm.

“I should thank you for that,” said Kassandra, meeting Aspasia’s gaze. “Seeing her so happy like that brought back a lot of memories of Kephallonia.”

“You and her share a special bond.” Aspasia reclined against a rather large pillow, smiling. “I knew it would mean a lot to you. I imagine you don’t linger, _ misthios_, considering what you seek.”

Kassandra nodded, gaze darting away. “I leave for Korinth in a couple of days. It was nice to spend time with her before I did. I could be away for a long time.”

“I never suspected you would be a creature of sentiment,” Aspasia inclined her head, “but then again, you are not just any other _ misthios_, are you, Kassandra?”

Kassandra lifted her shoulders, slight. “I don’t know. I do what they all do. I kill, I hunt, and I go where the drachmae is.”

“That is not entirely true now, is it,” Aspasia said, watching Kassandra keenly. “Your purpose has gone beyond the mere bounty or contract.”

“I suppose.” Kassandra took a deep breath. She could still smell traces of the fog of perfume that Alkibiades had unleashed upon his crowd below. “Isn’t it strange we keep coming back to discussing me?” 

“It is strange,” Aspasia said, “and a little more than fascinating, if I’m to be honest.”

Kassandra glanced at the other woman. “What is?”

“_You_. The Eagle Bearer from Kephallonia. Some would call you a cold-blooded killer, a force on the battlefield, and a perfectly terrifying hunter,” Aspasia smiled, as though these were all wondrous qualities. “Yet you are so much more.”

“And what am I, beyond all of that?” Kassandra asked, a tentative note in her voice. 

Aspasia laughed, a soft little sound, and averted her gaze, directing it to the space of carpet between where they sat. “Perfectly genuine.”

“Perfectly genuine,” Kassandra repeated, watching the way Aspasia’s curls moved.

“Just in the way that you are.” There was a meaningful light in Aspasia’s eyes now, as she looked up. “It almost doesn’t make sense. The way you carry yourself here, it’s almost as if you’ve never run a blade through a man’s chest in your life.”

Kassandra snorted, drawing her knees close to her chest. “But I have. Multiple times over.”

“And so, you remain unknowable to me. Daughter of Myrrine.” 

The searching look had returned to Aspasia’s expression, and Kassandra sat forward to shift a little closer. Aspasia leaned forward, following her movement, until they were only inches apart, and appeared to be transfixed in that same, peculiar way since the night they’d met.

“You always look at me like this,” Kassandra pointed out, voice lowered. “Did you know that?”

“Like what?” 

“Like you’re trying to look right through me. Like you don’t believe what you see.”

“I don’t,” Aspasia said simply.

They held each other’s gaze for a long time, before Kassandra snorted softly at something yet unsaid. Aspasia tilted her head, trying to catch the mercenary’s gaze once more. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” Kassandra stared into her own lap, refusing to look up for some reason. “It’s just… I had a dream about you, this morning.”

“Oh,” Aspasia let the word drag out, teasing. “Pray tell.”

“You were a cultist.”

Aspasia drew back, slight, with an eyebrow raised. “Is that so,” she breathed.

Kassandra chuckled and shook her head. “It’s stupid. And then Phoibe woke me up, so I couldn’t tell if it was true or not.”

“Well,” the other woman said softly, “here I am, Eagle Bearer.” Kassandra finally looked up, and immediately her gaze fell to Aspasia’s mouth, watching the movement of her lips as she spoke.

“Tell me, do I look like a cultist?” 

Kassandra’s face flushed, and there was a heat that seemed to be engulfing her entire being. “They don’t look a certain way,” she mumbled, her mind already a thousand miles away from the dream itself. “I couldn’t tell.”

Aspasia lifted a hand, touching it over Kassandra’s chest, where the red Spartan cloth lay. She felt the fabric there for a moment, as though there was some kind of inscription there to be read and interpreted. 

“Aspasia.” Kassandra’s voice was low, and full of intent. “What is it?”

A moment passed between them that felt like eons. Aspasia watched her own hand curl around the red fabric, as though she were someone else entirely and observing the scene from afar. She tugged, once, and the Eagle Bearer didn’t need telling twice, leaning forward.

“Thank you,” Aspasia murmured, so close now that her lips brushed against the corner of Kassandra’s mouth with every word, “for catching me yesterday.”

Kassandra’s eyes fluttered to a close as she turned her head - a slight movement, inconsequential, and yet the most decisive thing she’d ever done. Their lips met, and a flame willed itself to life, deep in the pit of her stomach.

She felt Aspasia lean into it and responded in kind, snaking her arms around the woman’s waist and pulled her along as she fell back against the pillows. Aspasia kissed her again, and then trailed her lips to the corner of Kassandra’s mouth, making a smooth journey to the Eagle Bearer’s quivering jaw.

It was all so terribly gentle and tender, like Aspasia was handling something precious or fragile. Every searing kiss felt deliberate, calculated - as though the wine had nothing at all to do with it. 

“You’re welcome,” Kassandra murmured, soft against the other woman’s mouth. All of Athens fell silent, perhaps in slumber, and Alkibiades and his party drew far from their minds. Here, they were only two. Inconsequential, beneath the gaze of unknowable gods. She kissed her again, more decisively this time. “You’re _ welcome_.”

Aspasia’s hands were tightly clutching the red cloth draped around Kassandra’s shoulders, holding the Eagle Bearer firmly in place.


	6. Run Away, Spartan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The distance between them felt like a chasm Kassandra could not hope to cross.

In the morning, guilt hit Kassandra like a gauntleted punch to the face.

She opened her eyes to an expanse of blue sky, not a cloud in sight. Her heart was hammering in her chest as she recounted the events of the night before with startling clarity: the slow conversation, Aspasia’s hands framed around her face like a lover, and the kiss that had created a spark that may as well have set an entire forest on fire.

They hadn’t gone further than that. But there had been such a harsh light to Aspasia’s eyes, as though she was possessed by something, that indicated something close to passion, even as they drew away from each other after a long time had passed. Desperation, even. Kassandra had no name for it, and dared not to call it anything she would regret. 

How long they had remained like that, simply gazing at each other, was lost on Kassandra, her memory fogged by the remnants of sleep, still heavy on her eyes and shoulders.

And then Kassandra had kissed her a final time before she laid down to rest, soothed by the soft sound of Aspasia’s whispers. The gentle, ticklish sensation of slender fingers, running through her hair.

“_Sleep, Eagle Bearer. No one shall take you_.”

Now, she laid against the pillows alone - with Aspasia nowhere to be found.

“Oh _ my_. Were you waiting here for _me_ all night?” Alkibiades’ voice seemed to be vibrating through the air. “You should have _ said _something, my dear!”

Kassandra blinked as the blonde man materialised into view, standing over her with a hand on his hip. His smile was sharp and suggestive, and his eyes narrowed with meaning in them.

The Eagle Bearer sat bolt upright, hands slowly raised. “This is not what you think.”

Alkibiades tossed his hair back. “But there is no other way I can possibly read this situation. You, Kassandra, having never left my residence! What else could you _ possibly _ want?”

She rose to her feet before Alkibiades made the decision to pounce on her. His gaze swept over her, taking all the time in the world, and he chuckled as she attempted to adjust herself and tidy up. “Has anyone ever told you how _ delicious _you look, sprawled across a Persian rug as lovely as this one?”

“No,” came Kassandra’s clipped response.

He winked at her. “I’m so _ pleased _ I got here before anyone else did, then.” He indicated the rug on which she stood, and briefly, Kassandra recalled how it felt to lay over it, with the gentle weight of Aspasia on top of her. But Alkibiades was still speaking, so she willed herself back to the present. “This was a diplomatic gift from a _ handsome _ Persian prince, some years ago. He was so _ eager _ to please during one of our many, ah… _ cultural exchanges_.”

Kassandra smiled, somewhat sheepish. “You’ve had quite the life, Alkibiades.”

“And so many more _ pleasurable _ days to come, I’m sure,” he said, eyelashes fluttering, before he added, “Aspasia told me to take good care of you, in any case, so I must insist you join me for some breakfast.”

Kassandra stilled. “So you’ve seen her, then?”

“Last night, _ very _ late into the evening,” Alkibiades bobbed his head. “Was she not in your company? Some hopeful junior statesmen were telling me just how _ jealous _ they were of the Eagle Bearer, taking up all that _ attention_. I, on the other hand, was _ burning _with envy for Aspasia.” 

He fluttered his eyelashes at her again, and Kassandra resisted the urge to groan. There was just the tiniest lilt in his voice that indicated he knew more than he let on, and had indeed come across her on her way out. But the Eagle Bearer knew better than to think he would provide answers for her easily.

“She was,” Kassandra said at last, looking past Alkibiades along with his attempt at flirting, and watched Athens shimmer in the heat. In the daytime, it was stripped of the romance and deep-seated charm of the night before. Yet it stood elegant and poised, still, in the bright blaze of sunlight. 

There was a hollow feeling that gripped Kassandra, all of a sudden. “I suppose she had to take care of business. So do I.”

“Don’t be such a heartbreaker,” Alkibiades was already reaching for her hand, “All the killing in the world can wait until you’re all _ filled up _with the finest Athens can offer.”

Kassandra’s brows drew together in uncertainty as they began walking.

“You _ are _talking about food, yes?”

*

“Don’t be a stranger to me, sweetling,” Alkibiades called out as he sent her out, making sure to punctuate his sentence with a gratuitous slap on Kassandra’s posterior. She threw a look over her shoulder at him only to receive a wink in response, and realised by now that it was fruitless to fight such absurdity when it came to a man like him.

The thought that Aspasia had left early in the morning while she was still sleeping gave Kassandra very little comfort. Her mind, now shed of the weight of fatigue, kicked into overdrive as a hundred thoughts came rushing in, river wild, as she drifted further from Alkibiades’ estate and towards the agora. 

Had Aspasia regretted any of it? Perhaps she, too, had woken in the morning and remembered her station, her place by Perikles’ side, and took off in a panic, to distance herself from the wrong they had both committed. Kassandra could still remember how it felt to lean into Aspasia’s touch, to breathe her in and bury kisses in her hair, and how tightly the stateswoman had held onto her, until the very last second. They had both been possessed by a ghost of passion and finally, last night, stopped to let themselves be swept away.

She imagined Aspasia was now by the king’s side, her hands softly clasped over his, and her face betraying nothing of what had happened last night. As if it never happened at all. Kassandra could believe it, and while a dull ache was beginning to surface in the middle of her chest, she knew she had to do the same.

“Kassandra! By the gods, there you are!”

Barnabas’ voice cut neatly through her torrential thoughts, and she looked up to see the old man with Sokrates in tow, kicking up dust as they made their way down the road towards her. There was a certain hysteria to his voice, and Kassandra waved as they met halfway with a questioning look on her face.

“Barnabas, Sokrates,” she said. “What are you both doing here?”

“Why, to look for you.” There was a shadow of seriousness to Sokrates’ features that Kassandra noticed, and her stomach lurched. “It appears something is happening at the theatre this morning that we thought you might want to be informed about.”

“I’m not interested in plays,” Kassandra said, looking from one man to the other.

Barnabas shook his head. “It’s not just a regular performance, Kassandra. They’re talking about you!”

“Me?” Kassandra’s brow furrowed, a frown taking shape. “Why in Hades would anyone do that?”

“Performances have power here, Kassandra,” Sokrates said calmly. “Comedies are used to ridicule and tear down public figures, people with reputations that precede them.”

Kassandra folded her arms. “And they’re, what, having a go at me? For what reason?”

Sokrates exchanged a worried glance with Barnabas. “It’s difficult to summarise,” he said, wringing his hands, “but for a start, they also are involving Perikles himself… and Aspasia.”

A chill descended over Kassandra, despite the fact that all three of them were standing in full view of the blazing sun.

“Take me,” was all she could manage before they made a beeline for the theatre.

*

“I am the runaway Spartan, here to tear down the walls of Athens,” the masked performer announced to a theatre overflowing with Athenians, his voice a painful, shrill thing, “but _ not _with the sharp steel of a blade. Rather, seduction and charisma! No better way to war with democracy than this! They will _never _see me coming!”

The audience erupted in laughter and applause, rippling like an ocean guided by the wrath of Poseidon. There were cheers for the performer to get on with it and unravel the rest of his act, and from where she was standing, Kassandra thought she could see the mad glee on the bastard’s face. 

And so he bellowed, “I have set my eyes on the lovely, _ enchanting _ Aspasia - how shall a woman like her resist me, the very paragon of youth, strength, and _ bedroom vigor? _All the qualities that which dear old Perikles lacks, of course!”

Beside her, Barnabas was practically vibrating, though it was unclear whether it was due to worry or excitement.

Sokrates, on the other hand, was a little more composed than his counterpart. Kassandra turned to him and whispered in a harsh breath, “Who the fuck wrote this _ malakas _play?”

The philosopher had a regretful smile on his face. “That, I’m afraid, is yet unknown.”

A new performer emerged on the stage, dressed in finery that Kassandra had seen somewhere before. It was as though a new anger had been lit inside her, a burning tempest that contributed to the violent tremor in her hands. She watched with disdain as ‘Aspasia’ sauntered over to the ‘Eagle Bearer’. Their bodies crashed together in an awkward embrace, limbs tangled in clunky, exaggerated movements. The sight stirred the crowd, and encouraged its mounting euphoria.

Kassandra’s hands curled into fists, so tightly that she was soon to draw blood on the inside of her palms. “The playwright has to be here,” she said in a low hiss. “Somewhere behind that _ malakas _backdrop.”

“It might not be such a—" Sokrates began, but Kassandra was already pushing past him to find an entryway behind the stage.

“I’m _ going_, whether you damn well approve or—"

“Kassandra!” 

It was the first time Sokrates looked so agitated, the harsh whip of his voice giving Kassandra considerable pause. Moving with startling agility, he stepped into the Eagle Bearer’s trajectory and pressed a hand onto her shoulder, his grip surprisingly firm.

“You _ cannot_,” he hissed.

Kassandra lifted her chin, defiant. “Give me one good reason why.”

Sokrates’ gaze steeled as he stepped aside, gesturing to the audience. “Look.”

And Kassandra did look, scanning every face in the crowd until she caught a pair of dark eyes, staring right at her. And in them lived something grave, something harsh, almost as if to say, _ Stay away. _Kassandra took an involuntary step back, hit by the full force of Aspasia's stare and the memory of the night before. 

_ She’s here. _

Beside Aspasia sat Perikles himself, a crumpled expression on his face as he watched on, unable to tear his attention away from the ongoing performance. And around them both, the crowd was surging with hysteria. Kassandra lowered her gaze, just as Aspasia closed a slender hand over Perikles’, and turned back to Sokrates and Barnabas.

“Tell me what to do,” she said, defeated.

“Unravel the mystery of the playwright,” Sokrates advised, touching a hand to her arm in comfort, “without bloodshed. Storming in there now will only confirm what they want Athens to know about you, Kassandra. You mustn’t play into their trap.”

“HAH!” Barnabas cried all of a sudden, slapping his leg with gusto as 'Aspasia' kicked 'Perikles' to the ground. "_Malake-_" 

Kassandra snapped her gaze toward her friend, hawk-like. Barnabas abruptly stopped to clear his throat loudly, before transitioning into an unconvincing cough.

“Come with us,” Sokrates offered gently, “and we’ll…”

“And _ lo! _ I, the great, insatiable Eagle Bearer, am standing amongst mortal men!” The lead actor was shrieking in the same, high-pitched voice, straining himself to apparently make his act convincing. But then he turned away from the crowd, arms outstretched, and looked in Kassandra’s direction. “Here to claim her prize, her trophy - _ the jewel of Athens_!”

The audience roared with laughter again, and several people leapt to their feet to point at her. Something in the air shifted; this time, the uproar took on an edge that skirted close to real outrage. In the midst of them, Aspasia’s face was unreadable, now so far out of reach. 

The distance between them felt like a chasm Kassandra could not hope to cross.

Kassandra felt her breath catch in her throat, pained. “I…”

Sokrates’s hand was gentle around her wrist. “Come,” he said softly. 

And she went, willing herself not to look back.


	7. Nicos, Nico, Nicodemus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “As of now, every Athenian on the street must have some sort of stake in the story they were just told.
> 
> “As do we, as we fight to tell another.”

“And you’re certain both of you weren’t seen?”

Kassandra shook her head, a grim line set to her chin. “Not where it counted, no,” she said quietly, her mind still running in a hundred different directions.

They were tucked away inside Sokrates’ home, gathered around a table in his study. True to his vocation, the man had turned a simple room into a vast personal library of sorts; scrolls of papyrus and tablets were laid out across the table, and shelves had been erected to store even more of them, along with some personal effects. A wood-carved miniature, not yet fully formed, sat among them. 

The room had a warm, comforting feeling to it; to be surrounded by so much knowledge, Kassandra thought, might mean that Sokrates would be able to draw up a plan in no time, and end this farce once and for all.

“Where it counted?” Sokrates inclined his head. His intended question did not have to be verbalised, and it hung over Kassandra like a hammer. _What else, Kassandra? What did you _do?

“We… during Alkibiades’ party,” Kassandra self-consciously tugged at the strap of her bracers, “There might have been—a kiss.”

Sokrates’ expression softened into that of understanding, and without judgment he pressed further, “Is that all?”

Kassandra's mouth tightened into a line, eyes darting away. “There were _ several _kisses. But we never went beyond that,” she added, a touch of anxiety in her tone, “and I swear to the gods that no one followed us. A few men saw us before we left to find a private spot, and she—” Kassandra swallowed, “—touched my face, I think.”

"_Malake_!" Barnabas exclaimed, slapping a hand to his forehead. "Of all the people in the world, you had to pick the king's beloved woman!"

Kassandra felt a twinge of protest, though it was weak. “I didn’t pick—oh, never mind,” she waved the rest of her thoughts away, into the void. “It doesn’t matter how it happened. All of Athens knows.” Her hands trembled, slight. “I need to figure out who might have been involved—and who wrote the performance.”

Sokrates made a thoughtful little hum, and nodded. “Let us start with the possibility, then, that someone jumped to conclusions last night, when they looked upon you and Aspasia, who appeared to be close.”

_ Appeared to be close. _The words gave rise to some discomfort, and Kassandra couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “Yes,” she said quietly.

“It must have been at Alkibiades’ estate,” Sokrates went on, taking the helm of the discussion, “considering how uncannily quick your critics moved to stage a rather haphazard performance for Athens just this morning.”

Outside the lone window in the room, thunder rumbled, ominous and dark. It had just been bright and hot mere moments ago, as they returned together from the theatre, but now the air had picked up a certain chill to it. 

Kassandra was by no means terribly religious, but she couldn’t quite push the thought from her mind that it was Zeus himself descending from the clouds to lay judgment upon her. 

Suddenly, acutely, she realised how much she missed Phoibe.

No doubt the girl would be barred from seeing Kassandra for the time being. The Eagle Bearer couldn’t imagine Aspasia possessing the peace of mind to want to have anything to do with her at this point. An involuntary shiver rose out of her, and she belatedly realised it was fear.

“We’ll need names and faces,” Kassandra said, finally looking back up at Sokrates. He had a sympathetic smile playing on his lips, and she attempted one of her own. It didn’t quite take, like flames put to a wet log. “I can go back and ask him.”

“A list of suspects is a good place to start,” Barnabas nodded. “I can snoop around the agora with my boys and eavesdrop a little, in the meantime. What do you think?”

“A fine decision. As of now, every Athenian on the street must have some sort of stake in the story they were just told.” He reached for Kassandra and touched her arm, reassurance in every line of his weathered face. “As do we, as we fight to tell another.”

*

Alkibiades was having a field day, it seemed, as he came to fetch Kassandra at the door. His arms spread wide open as he descended the path to meet her, only to be greeted in return with a quick shake of her head. As playful as the man was, Alkibiades was still a politician of many years, and read her body language easily.

“What can I do for you, sweetling?” He appeared to sober up, pushing all thoughts of trying to get her into bed with him away, fairly quickly. Kassandra noted this with relief, and a tiny touch of gratitude.

“I need to know who attended your party,” she said quickly. “Names, faces—all of it.”

Alkibiades’ hand went to his hip. “What a peculiar request. Does it have anything to do with the _ provocative _ little play I’ve been hearing so much about today, hmm?”

Kassandra winced at the memory of it. “Unfortunately. Some _ malakas _bastard is out there, telling lies to all of Athens,” she said darkly. “I need to find out who he is.”

“Surely there must be some truth, even in comedy,” Alkibiades ventured, a faint drawl in his voice. He was watching Kassandra with interest, now, as though she had suddenly become a wholly different person altogether.

Kassandra bit the inside of her cheek. There would be no progress, she knew, if she continued to put on pretenses in front of him.

“There was. There _ is_,” she corrected herself, albeit with a touch of reluctance. It was hard enough to admit such a thing out in the open, but it proved a more difficult task to put away the image of Aspasia’s hard gaze from her mind. It ached, dull and distant, and lingered close to her heart. “Aspasia and I… had a moment.”

“A moment!” Alkibiades touched a hand to his chest, somehow possessed with the audacity to look shocked about something he likely already knew.

“Yes,” Kassandra grumbled.

Alkibiades blinked at her meaningfully. Kassandra sighed, understanding, and rubbed a hand across her face as she elaborated.

“We kissed.”

The blonde let out a delighted yelp, and for some reason chose this moment to toss his hair back prettily. “Oh, _ misthios_,” he moaned, “How very scandalous.”

“Yes, yes,” Kassandra waved her hand at him, as though trying to will away his enthusiasm about the matter like one would with a persistent fly, “And now all of Athens is on fire. Can I please have the names?”

The sky above them had grown terribly overcast at this point, and dark storm clouds were convening in preparation of a great shower of rain. Alkibiades took one look at the heavens before beckoning Kassandra to follow him with a finger.

“Come, sweetling,” he said, not entirely playful about it, though there was a conspiratorial twinkle in his eyes, “Let us _ undress— _I mean, unmask this mysterious man.”

*

“There was a delightful little gathering in my personal chambers last night,” Alkibiades gushed, as they entered the courtyard, “so I can, at the very least, vouch for the lack of involvement for several men and women. You were meant to be the crown jewel of my collection, of course, but now I know that you scurried away for _ good _reason.”

“Let’s not,” Kassandra said flatly. Around them, Alkibiades’ well-tended courtyard held no sign of distress, or any indication, really, that he had hosted a party well into the night, filled with wine-soaked passion and zeal. A servant was patiently wiping down a golden urn, seated outside the kitchen area. 

“Mmm,” Alkibiades hummed, and pushed no further. He took her into the guest room, where they settled down against more luxurious pillows. He began to count off and list the names of his esteemed guests, most of which were people Kassandra did not know personally. Aristocrats and junior politicians they were, all of whom had come to gain favor and form partnerships with Alkibiades himself.

“They didn’t know Aspasia was coming?” 

“Oh, my dear, even _ I _wasn’t certain if Aspasia was going to turn up. She often prefers to do the hosting, as you well know.”

Kassandra leaned back. Beyond the walls that enclosed them in a warm space, she could hear the torrent of rain crashing onto the roof. But a storm had been raging in her mind long before the skies turned grey, and she tried to make sense of Alkibiades’ information.

Aspasia had not indicated her attendance, and yet appeared anyway. Kassandra recalled her unwavering attention and gaze, and how she had spoken to no one else that night. Almost as if she had come solely to be with the Eagle Bearer. 

Perhaps, then, someone who must have been vying for Aspasia’s attention grew envious. Or it was simply that Kassandra had gotten in the way of a potential political partnership, though it was hard to imagine anyone who attended Alkibiades’ party came with the intention of working and talking politics.

“Euripides, Sophokles, and Aischylos,” Alkibiades went on, “were very much tangled up in each other by the time you arrived. Arguing, I believe, about whose tragedy reigned supreme. And they had so much _ stamina_, too. They could have used it in so many _ other _ways.”

Kassandra gave him a look, and he giggled, a melodious little sound.

“And Aristophanes,” she said, “What about him?”

It was unlikely, Kassandra knew, that Aristophanes had anything to do with it. He held no ill will towards the Eagle Bearer, and only ever fussed himself with trying to one up Sokrates in debate. And yet, the play she witnessed earlier in the morning was a full-blown comedy. And Aristophanes had always prided himself on being able to write this particular type of performance, making it known whenever he had the chance.

“Aristophanes, hmm. I believe he was deep in discussion with someone at the time,” Alkibiades said, gaze far away as he tried to recall details. “I was passing by them to get to the kitchens, and heard something about the technicalities of comedy. The other man, I did not recognise.”

Kassandra sat forward. “I thought you knew every guest who walked through your doors.”

“As did I.” Alkibiades’ expression was thoughtful. “He had the most rugged, handsome look about him, but he looked young. A charming head of black hair, and a little bit of stubble. _ Mmm_.”

“Alkibiades, focus.” Kassandra’s brows knit together. “You didn’t know the man at all?”

“No, but it could very well have been Aristophanes’ companion,” Alkibiades said, “Someone I have yet to get to know, it would seem. It is not beyond the realm of possibility. But they had eyes for no one else but each other.” He smirked, briefly. “Not quite unlike you and Aspasia.”

Kassandra ignored the teasing, and willed herself to think harder. “They could have seen me and her, just before we headed upstairs,” she said, more to herself than to Alkibiades. 

“Perhaps a lead worth following, hmm?”

Kassandra pursed her lips, contemplative. There were no _ other _leads to follow, and the fact that Alkibiades did not know everyone present was enough of a reason to chase this one down. Aristophanes, then, had become the next key towards taking this damned play apart, and strip it from skin to bone.

“It’s the only lead I have,” she said, and rose to her feet. “Tell me if anything else comes to you.”

Alkibiades preened, his gaze never leaving her back as she departed.

*

She found Aristophanes a day later, after the storm had subsided. With Ikaros’ help, Kassandra tracked the lanky, curly-haired playwright to the Parthenon. Buoyed by determination to get to the bottom of things, Kassandra’s ascent to the grand temple of Athena was smooth and quick. Phobos seemed to have sensed his owner’s urgency in the matter, and made the gallop uphill with little trouble.

The playwright was pacing the perimeter at a slow, deliberate pace when Kassandra caught up to him, capering at his heel. She clapped a hand on his shoulder, and the poor man started with a shriek.

“Gods take you!” He turned to jump back, both hands raised. Upon seeing the Eagle Bearer, his eyes widened with relief. “Oh _good_, it’s just you.”

“Hello, Aristophanes,” Kassandra said, mild. “What are you doing here?”

“I come here to think and plan, of course!” Aristophanes spread his arms up, heavenward. Around him, worshippers eyed him with some sort of disdain. Clearly, he had made it known to everyone, too, that he had not come here to worship Athena. “I find there’s no better place to be when looking for divine inspiration for the next big masterpiece.”

“Athena wouldn’t be my first choice,” Kassandra muttered. And then, louder now, she pressed him with the question that had been burning on the tip of her tongue. “Can I ask who you were speaking to, the night of Alkibiades’ party?”

“Who?” Aristophanes bristled, a panicked light in his eyes. “I speak to many people, you know! I’m fairly popular, so you’re going to have to be more specific.”

Sensing he was nearing his wit’s end, Kassandra persisted. “Dark hair, cute stubble, young. According to Alkibiades,” she said, taking one grave step forward, “he never left your side all night.”

“Oh! Um.” Aristophanes shuffled his feet nervously. “Alkibiades said that, did he?”

“Aristophanes.” A touch of impatience flared within Kassandra. “I just need to know his name, and maybe where he lives.”

“I don’t, uh—I mean,” Aristophanes stumbled, taking an uneasy step backward, “I think his name was Nicos, or something? Nicos… Nico…” His eyes widened. “Nicodemus! Yes!”

Kassandra’s heart leapt. Finally. A name, and a face. “What did he talk to you about, that night?”

“Many things,” the playwright said meekly, his face turning crimson. “He asked me about my work, said all these nice, pretty things.”

“Like?” Kassandra leaned forward.

“Like wanting to write plays the way I do,” he admitted, shame thick in his voice. “And I just fell right into it, Kassandra, I did! And I think he lifted my drachmae off me when I had too much to drink!” He began to wail, much to the chagrin of a group of priestesses passing by.

_ Oh, Aristophanes. _Kassandra awkwardly patted him on the side of his arm. “Uh, look. I could find him and get your money back. Do you know where he lives?”

“Oh, would you?” Aristophanes practically collapsed against her, leaning his whole weight - which wasn’t very much - and clutching her by the shoulders, desperate. “He said he had a house near the local blacksmith. Will you tell him he broke my heart, Kassandra? Will you?”

“Yes, yes, fine,” Kassandra said weakly, jostling at him gently so she could peel Aristophanes off her at last.

*

The blacksmith directed her to her destination, waving an unfinished sword in its general direction.

Heart hammering in her chest, Kassandra approached the house, with a hand hovering over the dagger that Aspasia had gifted her as she pushed the door open with a slow creak. Expecting to see Nicodemus holed up inside, she drew her weapon and took one large step in. But what she saw caused her heart to sink.

The house was bare. Not a single trace of anything had been left behind by its owner. Nicodemus had run.

Anger flared around the edges of her mind, flames licking hungrily at her thoughts. Of course it had to be a dead fucking end.

“Hello, little eagle,” a voice, rough and gravelly, came from behind her.

Kassandra wheeled around and came face to face with three armored men, wearing the unmistakable, cruel-faced helm that could only belong to one group, in all of Greece.

The cultist soldiers drew their swords and spears, snarling grins on their dark faces.

“We’ve been expecting you.”


	8. To Kill a Ghostwriter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You understand, don’t you, that ideas are stronger than any blade of steel, and can cut a path through anything?”

The sharp clash of steel on steel rang out into the still evening air.

Odell looked up from where he sat, hammer half-raised at his anvil, and glanced in the direction that the _ misthios _had run, not ten minutes before. Of course, he’d noticed the masked soldiers, armor glinting menacingly in the sun, marching in after her, but there hadn’t been time to give a shout of warning before they disappeared through the doorway. 

That, and he was just _ this _close to clearing off his debt. The sword that lay upon the anvil was the last job he had to do before the last of his earnings came in for the week, and he would be able to pay off that damned brute, who had lent him the drachmae he needed to set up shop many months ago. He wasn’t about to risk his life and earn himself a chance to be speared through the stomach. 

And besides, the men sounded like they were having a hard time, anyway. Their cries were shrill, strained bursts of noise, and if he closed his eyes, Odell could imagine the swings they were trying to take at that deadly-looking _ misthios _ girl. 

Hey, didn’t she look familiar?

“I’ll fucking gut you—_ yeargh!_” The door burst open with the force of a fully armored man hurtling towards the ground, wood splintering everywhere. Odell watched, with eyes wide open, as the masked soldier tumbled several feet away as though he had just been rushed by the Minotaur itself.

And out came the _ misthios _ (seriously, where had he seen her before?), a dagger in one hand and a broken spear in the other. Odell watched as she reared herself for a charge at the poor sod on the ground, pivoting. And in one fluid motion, as two more soldiers emerged from the house after her, clearly winded, she advanced with the speed of Hermes and skewered her target cleanly in the chest.

Odell winced at the sight, his work long forgotten. Without missing a beat, the woman surged to her feet and whirled around, blades at the ready, and leaped towards her other attackers. She dodged, dropped, and rolled like it wasn’t anything strenuous, darting left and right with practiced agility and balance, and Odell had half a mind to hire her to scare off that street rat Xander, who wouldn’t leave his dear daughter alone.

But that would cost drachmae, he reminded himself, still transfixed on the scuffle before him. And his wife would have his head if she knew he was spending their money on petty issues like intimidating boys away. It would be a shameful way to die, he finally concluded.

The mercenary sank her dagger - fine craftsmanship, he distractedly mused - right into the throat of that unfortunate soldier, and wasted no time in dislodging the blade to parry a rather ambitious attempt at a backstab.

The last masked soldier fell back in fear, but he had no time to scream surrender. When the mercenary woman was done with him, pouncing on him and guiding her blade with precision to split his throat open, her hands were drenched in blood and gore. 

And yet there was this serenity to her features, like she had simply been taking a stroll in the akropolis sanctuary, and had finally come to the end of her very relaxing walk.

Odell feebly raised a hand as she strode past his stall, trying to get her attention. “Hey, uh, want me to fix that spear for you, _ misthios_? I’ll give you a discount,” he called out.

Overhead, an eagle soared and cried out, seemingly to the woman. She looked skyward and extended an arm, and threw a brief glance over her shoulder at him. 

“No thanks. It’s fine the way it is,” she said, as the eagle landed gently to perch on her arm without fuss.

Odell’s jaw dropped, and realisation washed over him like a sudden wave.

*

“By the gods, Kassandra, did you just decide to slaughter ten bears on your way back?”

Barnabas gaped at her as she emerged from the cover of the night, the sun long gone by the time she made it back to Sokrates’ home. “Basin,” was all she said, and Sokrates wordlessly went to fetch it for her himself.

The water was cool and soothing, though Kassandra had sustained no injuries, and she worked quietly to scrub the blood from her hands and forearms as the two men watched in silence.

“It’s the Cult,” she finally said, rinsing the rag and watching the water turn red.

Sokrates leaned forward from where he sat, worry creasing his brows. “You’re certain? And what of the playwright?”

“I couldn’t forget the masks if I tried.” Kassandra squeezed the rag until it was as dry as she could get it, and wiped down her bracers. The blood had seeped into the leather by now, and the smell of death still clung to her there, coppery and revolting. “Nicodemus, the man responsible for writing that play, had already left by the time I got there. I’ll need to keep looking.”

“I see.” The sophist stroked his beard, thoughtful, and gazed into the ground. “We shall have to either track him down, or find an alternative way of gaining access to him.”

Scrambling all over Athens - and indeed, Attika herself - proved to be a discouraging thought. The man could have easily fled to the port by now if he knew he’d been discovered, and with the Cult’s financial backing have no issue in securing passage elsewhere, forever out of reach.

“Right!” 

Barnabas clapped his hands together, deciding it was his turn to chip in. His eye was darting from Kassandra to Sokrates, and held a gleam in it as he continued, “I think there might be some chance we can catch the bastard. I took some boys and went ahead to pick up any scrap of information, and we’ve heard quite a bit of stuff. Er, some of them about you, Kassandra—heh, all a bunch of hooey, of course,” he added sheepishly. “It’s crazy what Athenians think when they’ve laughed themselves out of their minds, eh?"

“Barnabas.” Kassandra’s gaze was pointed. 

The old sailor nodded vigorously, “Right, right. As I was saying, we went snooping around. I picked up something about a disease or a case of poisoning in the Athenian military—horses collapsing left and right!—and,” he took a breath, “that the performance will be held again for a final time tomorrow, at dusk, by popular demand.”

Kassandra’s heart leapt, hope descending on her like a gentle gust of wind. Sokrates was humming, too, and met her eyes with a look. “How interesting that they should risk facing your wrath,” the philosopher mused aloud, “now that they have the fullest attention of your blade. Don’t you think?”

“It’s the drachmae, it has to be!” Barnabas said in a low whisper. “I heard Athenians were throwing bags upon bags at the actors, begging them to run it again!”

“Then I find these actors,” she said, stepping away from the basin, “and make them point me in the direction of Nicodemus.”

“Indeed, this seems to be our only option. Our _ last _option,” Sokrates stressed. “It would be unwise to kill him, Kassandra, considering the delicate situation you find yourself in. Stay your blade, if you can.”

Kassandra pursed her lips, and folded her arms. Killing the playwright would alert all of Athens, now that it was buzzing with fanatical madness about the play, and possibly leave the Eagle Bearer looking worse off than she already did. She began to pace up and down, slow, and gave it some thought.

“I will try,” she finally said. “But it’s important that I stop that second performance before it happens.”

“Of course,” Sokrates said, nodding. “Be safe, Kassandra. Now that we know the Cult is behind this, there’s no telling what awaits you in the night.”

Kassandra looked out the window, and gazed at the full moon that hung in the sky.

“In other words, business as usual.”

*

Whether by arrogance or foolishness, the actors had chosen to reside near the akropolis, right in the heart of Athens. And so Kassandra departed for it in the early morning, purpose renewed and sharpened like an arrowhead that could tear through even the strongest steel. 

Barnabas had done some further digging, and managed to weed out more information about the actors’ whereabouts, and relayed it to Kassandra not long after she woke.

The sky was a light shade of blue, and Athens had not fully awoken yet; the streets were still bare, just the way Kassandra needed them to be. Any unwanted attention, at this point, would be too troublesome to deal with quietly. She had seen what an agitated group of Athenians looked like, no thanks to Kleon’s frequent and very public lashing of Perikles’ image.

_ Perikles. _The thought of the king, mild and righteous in his own way, brought along a guilt that weighed heavy on the Eagle Bearer’s shoulders. She hadn’t heard from him or Herodotos since the performance that day, and Kassandra wasn’t sure if she could ever face him again. He was a good man, despite Kleon’s overtly aggressive criticisms, and Kassandra knew that Athens loved him dearly.

Whatever she had chosen for herself that night as she let Aspasia draw so close, she hadn’t done it with the intention to wound the king where it mattered most. And yet, she made the choice anyway, against the trembling in her hands and heart. 

Were it anyone else but Perikles, Kassandra was sure she would have been thrown into jail by now - or worse, met with the deadly curve of an axe to the neck for the sole offense of insulting the king with, well, _ whatever _it was she shared with Aspasia.

And yet here she was, trudging up the path to the akropolis, still very much alive. It was something she did not take for granted, swearing silently that she would make good use of the time she had left here - to right these wrongs, and put an end to another one of the Cult’s machinations.

She found her mark based on Barnabas’ description of their lodgings: a two-story building just a stone’s throw away from the sanctuary, and around the corner from a local bathhouse and temple. As she made her approach, she noticed that all the windows had been boarded shut, and there seemed to be no sound of activity coming from within.

Yet the dirt and soil here had been recently disturbed by way of a person’s footsteps, and the soil was still wet when she touched it. Someone had just returned from the bathhouse.

*

The man was hunched over, counting drachmae, when she found him on the second floor. Beside him was the mask of the ‘Eagle Bearer’ - a rather shoddy attempt at combining the face of a man and eagle into one. The sight of it revived the fire of anger in Kassandra again, as fresh as the day she’d been there to see the audience jeering at her, and Aspasia’s face.

In one swift motion, she grabbed the actor by the nape of his neck, giving no courtesies, and yanked him to his feet. The man, a scrawny little blonde, opened his mouth to scream but stopped short when Kassandra brandished her dagger at him, the sharp edge of it pricking at the skin of his jaw.

“Move or make a sound, and you will wish you hadn’t, ‘Eagle Bearer’,” she hissed, dark and menacing.

The man trembled, and nodded gingerly without even a squeak.

“Now,” Kassandra said, “while your colleagues are still enjoying themselves at the bathhouse, how about we talk about Nicodemus, and where I can find him?”

“Yes, yes,” the man wheezed, eyes wide with fear, “I will tell you, _ misthios_, I promise.”

“Start talking, little man.” She prodded the blade a little deeper into his skin, on the edge of drawing blood.

“He’s—he paid us,” the actor began, breathless, “A lot of drachmae. A lot of it. We didn’t know how he could have afforded it.” He took a moment to swallow with effort, his throat bobbing painfully against Kassandra’s blade. “We didn’t care, not when it was so much. And he told us it was—it would consume Athens. And we would come to the height of our careers as actors.”

“And you just took the money.” Kassandra couldn’t keep the disgust from her voice.

“He was sweet,” the actor said in a soft voice, “and charming. Told me, personally, that I was—that I felt special to him. I didn’t know how, or why—I just believed him. It was so easy.”

“So it _is_ him.” She scowled. "Nicodemus."

“Yes,” the man said, and suddenly, his eyes shone with hurt. “And I know he does not feel the same for me. He only used me to make the performance happen.”

Kassandra retracted her blade, slightly, to give him space to breathe without fear of stabbing himself in the throat. “And he wants you to do it again.”

“No, _ no_,” the man’s eyes widened, bright blue. “We’re doing it without him. To earn more drachmae than he ever offered us. But,” he added quickly, glancing at the weapon in her hand, “but I see now that it might not be such a good idea, after all.”

“It was _ slander_,” Kassandra hissed. “An invasion of privacy that you should never have taken part in!”

“But is any of it true?” His voice shook, almost eagerly. “We were told—that you do covet Aspasia’s affections. In truth, any red-blooded man would. Or woman,” he added.

Kassandra shoved the man to the ground, anger flaring dangerously once again. “That is neither here nor there, and Nicodemus doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about.” She glanced at the pile of drachmae, scattered across the ground, and then back at the ‘Eagle Bearer’ again, mouth curling into a grimace. “If that performance takes flight at dusk like I heard it would, you’ll have a lot more to worry about than a fraud playwright breaking your heart. I mean it.”

“And I hear you,” the man croaked, scrambling on all fours to make way for her as she passed him by. “He lives out by the abandoned farmlands, _ misthios_! We won’t run the performance again, I swear it!”

*

True to the word of Alkibiades and Aristophanes, Nicodemus truly was a man of unnaturally good looks. But, backed into a corner and snarling like a trapped beast, Kassandra thought he looked more monstrous than anything else. His features twisted with rage, a hint of panic, and the lone candle in the room cast a grave shadow across them, making him look almost inhuman. He was lean, fair-skinned, and looked no older than twenty.

“Tell me the name of your master,” she commanded, in a low voice. The Spear of Leonidas seemed to burn in her grip, as though it too was thrumming with anger.

“You think simple interrogation will get you anything decent?” Nicodemus threw his head back in laughter, the sound of a man unhinged as he faced death. “At this point, my work is already complete.” His smile was wicked venom. “Even if you kill me, all of Athens will condemn your name, Eagle Bearer. You understand, don’t you, that ideas are stronger than any blade of steel, and can cut a path through anything?”

Kassandra’s eyes narrowed considerably, and her grip on the spear tightened. She recalled Sokrates’ warning and parting advice, and knew in her heart that the sophist had the right idea. The _ better _ idea, in any case. Nicodemus was challenging her with his eyes, a crazed look on his young face, and she knew then and there that he was daring her to kill him, to be the blade that would split his body into two.

_ These people are madmen_, Kassandra thought, drained of anger. A strange chill took hold of her, and she stepped away from the young cultist.

“That’s what I thought,” Nicodemus smiled, and darted past and around her. He moved silently, like a ghost, and then he was so far out of reach.

She turned to watch his form shrink down the path as he made his mad dash for freedom. And then the night swallowed him whole, and he returned into the thick, unknowable darkness out of which he had sprung.

*

The walk back to Sokrates’ home was spent in brooding silence. The torch in her hand was soon to wear out, and she tossed it aside thoughtlessly as she ascended the light, familiar slope. 

Movement up ahead drew her eyes to the modest estate, looming as she came closer, and at first she assumed it might have been Barnabas or Sokrates, waiting out in the dark to receive her out of worry or concern. But the silhouette was much too lean, and shorter than either man. Kassandra, for one reason or another, kept a hand hovering close to the hilt of Leonidas’ spear as she made her slow approach.

In the low, dim light of a lit sconce, Kassandra could barely make out who it was. But then they spoke, and almost immediately, the velvet sound of their voice extinguished the ugly image of Nicodemus’ snarling visage in Kassandra’s mind.

“Kassandra.”

The Eagle Bearer drew to a slow halt, hand falling limp to her side. The name was on her lips, aching to be freed, but there was no strength in her being. She could only take hesitant steps forward, lips parted without a sound. But in her chest, her heart thundered with fear and other untold emotions. It was as though a thousand years had passed, and she had become lost to it all.

Aspasia stepped into the soft, flickering light, and shadows danced across her features. She did not look angry, not like she had on that dreadful morning at the theatre, and her eyes held a silent plea in them, something Kassandra could not immediately comprehend or hope to interpret.

“Say something,” the woman said, her voice a soft, soothing murmur. Hopeful. Kassandra’s lips drew shut, and she took a deep, shaky breath, unsure where to start.

When no words came to appease the terror mounting in her heart, Aspasia moved, reaching out with a hand. Before Aspasia’s fingers could even lightly graze her cheek, Kassandra inclined her head and leaned, quietly desperate, and hoped to the gods that it was no dream. And then Aspasia was cradling her face in both hands, pressing their foreheads together and whispering blessed words of comfort, and, at last, drew the Eagle Bearer closer to capture her lips in a crushing kiss.


	9. One Athenian Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It only matters what you think.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. this is just smut  
2\. I don't write it often, but I feel like this is what we deserve  
3\. I hope it's good  
4\. we have now ventured into Explicit waters  
5\. <3

“They wrote plays about me when I first entered Perikles’ court,” Aspasia said, idly stroking Kassandra’s hair, “And there were so many scathing rumors, it would take me another night to finish telling you about every single one.”

Head laid snugly on Aspasia’s lap, Kassandra’s golden eyes flicked up at the woman’s face, cast dim in the moonlight. Above her were countless stars, blinking and twinkling, and framed Aspasia the way Kassandra had always seen her: glowing, ethereal, and far out of reach. Yet here she was, nestled deep within the politician’s home. If anyone was out of reach, it was the Eagle Bearer, now - away from prying eyes. 

“We don’t have many of those,” she pointed out, pushing the pain from her voice, “So you’d better make it quick.”

Aspasia’s dark eyes fell upon her face, charged with emotion. Her hand slid slowly downwards to stroke at the line of Kassandra’s jaw, feeling the tension there. “It slipped out in no time that I was one of the _ hetaerae_,” she said, conversational, despite the seriousness in her gaze, “and I was the conniving courtesan, reaching out to corrupt Athens’ beloved Perikles and lead him astray. The non-Athenian woman who dabbled in thievery, and the one and only thing she wanted was the heart of a king she did not deserve.”

Kassandra’s nose wrinkled as she briefly looked away. “I don’t see it.”

Her response stirred a laugh out of Aspasia, and Kassandra visibly relaxed. A small smile was playing on the Eagle Bearer’s lips, and Aspasia met it with one of her own. Adoring.

“You are blind, then,” she chided gently, and cupped Kassandra’s chin with a hand. “I was _ hetaerae _ \- that is no lie.”

“And are you conniving?” Kassandra asked quietly, as though afraid that if she spoke too loud, the illusion would shatter, and she would be lost once more. “A thief, as they said?”

Aspasia bent over to swoop down for a kiss, and lingered. Kassandra’s mind swam a little from it, and had to take a moment to center herself when the woman drew back.

“Why don’t you tell me what you think?” Aspasia said, biting her lower lip. It was the closest to being shy that Kassandra ever saw in her.

Kassandra closed a hand over Aspasia’s and guided it away for a moment, and slowly rose into a sitting position. There was a gust of wind that swept at them at that moment, and Kassandra was charmed, almost instantly, by the way Aspasia’s hair moved with it. She reached out to brush the hair from those dark eyes, and Aspasia sat perfectly still, watching her keenly.

“I think you’re perfectly good,” Kassandra said, genuine. 

Aspasia caught her hand with both of hers, and gently dragged a thumb along the inside of Kassandra’s palm. “And you’re being an unreliable source of information,” she said, though she was evidently pleased.

“Really,” Kassandra grinned, “I think Athens has ruined you. Not everyone waits to see the worst in people.”

Aspasia pressed a soft kiss on the inside of the Eagle Bearer’s palm, reverent. “I do wish you would stop that,” she admonished, whisper-soft.

Kassandra tilted her head. “Stop what?”

“This,” Aspasia pulled Kassandra’s hand close to her face again, and leaned in. “Being the way that you are.”

“And that is?”

“Good.” She closed her eyes, briefly. “Perfectly good.” Kassandra found no words suitable enough to form a proper response, charmed by the sight of her like this, and simply laughed, somewhat breathless. When Aspasia opened her eyes again, a strange light had entered her gaze. “You didn’t kill the man behind the play.”

It was a statement, but Kassandra heard the question behind it. It was as much as Kassandra had told her, along with Sokrates and Barnabas, before she let herself be whisked away into the night with Aspasia by her side. Briefly, the memory resurfaced: Nicodemus taunting her, proclaiming his work done. It was the sowing of a seed, the planting of an idea, that he had set out to accomplish - and he did, creating something that Kassandra could not run a sword through, or stick arrows into.

The Eagle Bearer worked her jaw for one long moment, and finally let out a ragged sigh.

“It wouldn’t have changed anything.” It felt close to admitting defeat, even though Sokrates had assured her she had done the right thing. “The people have already seen it. And they believe it.” Kassandra closed her eyes. “They believe this is who I am.”

“Does it matter what they think?”

“No,” murmured the mercenary, a twinge of sadness in her voice. “It only matters what you think.”

She felt Aspasia draw close to her, and opened her eyes. There was a permissive look on the other woman’s face, as though she had sensed, somehow, that Kassandra was waiting for the chance to pull her in again. And so she did, wrapping one strong arm around the woman’s waist, and holding her close. The faint scent of wildflower, sweet and gentle, soothed her soul when she took a breath.

And Aspasia was hovering close to her mouth again, trailing light, tentative kisses along her jaw, then her chin. “I think,” she said, in a low voice, “that you would look very good in blue.”

Kassandra snorted, somewhat confused, and drew back a little. “I’m actually being serious.”

“Who said I wasn’t?” Aspasia’s lips drew into a wicked grin, and she wrapped her arms around Kassandra’s neck, anchoring herself there. And then, a little softer now, she said, “I don’t want you to think that you've done something unforgivable, Kassandra.”

“That’s not—” Kassandra stumbled. She looked away, and Aspasia craned her neck to follow the averting gaze. “That’s for Perikles to decide, isn’t it?”

“I have spoken to him, and he is hurt,” Aspasia said, and elaborated no further. She leaned close, touching her forehead to the Eagle Bearer’s once more. “Accept that it is enough, for now. We need time.”

Her words had a balming effect, for better or for worse, despite the revelation that Perikles had, indeed, come away wounded from it all. 

Kassandra willed herself to remain present and bridged the gap to lay another kiss on the woman’s mouth. She felt her lower lip quiver when she drew away. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” she admitted, a few slow seconds later. 

“I should apologise for that,” Aspasia said, chuckling, “but it would seem I haven’t been able to push you from my mind, either.”

Kassandra shuddered beneath the weight of those words. “Gods,” she whispered, “What in Hades are we doing?”

Aspasia shifted her weight, and settled down neatly in Kassandra’s lap without letting go. Here, in the serenity of her home, it seemed that nothing would be able to get to them. And Kassandra, feeling foolish, allowed herself to believe it - if only for one more night in Athens.

“Being honest,” Aspasia purred, hands now roving to free Kassandra from her armor, “about what we want.”

“Aspasia,” Kassandra’s voice diminished into a low hiss, fully aware of where things were headed.

“Tell me, Kassandra,” Aspasia’s voice took on an edge as her hands found exactly what they were looking for, “what you want.” Deft hands worked to unbuckle and those familiar leather straps, the ones Kassandra had always handled by herself until now.

“I want,” Kassandra breathed against Aspasia’s mouth, moving hungrily now to kiss her between words, “I want justice, Aspasia.”

The woman purred again, and released Kassandra from her chestpiece, eyes half-lidded with feline pleasure. “And?”

Kassandra craned her neck, eyes shut tight as Aspasia laid burning kisses there. It was hard to speak, but there was a tempest stirring in her now, one that had been brewing for days - really, they had felt more like years -

“I want my family, healed,” she let out a groan, feeling it shudder its way out of her throat, and let Aspasia push her down against the pillows. “I want _ you_,” she finished off into a low growl, and felt the woman in her embrace shiver.

Warm lips grazed over her ear. “So take me.”

It was all the permission she needed. Kassandra clenched her teeth, almost certain she was soon to burst into flames, and moved her hands up the smooth length of Aspasia’s thighs, lifting her robes, and squeezing at the soft flesh there. Aspasia drew back, sitting neatly atop Kassandra’s stomach, and lifted the robe away in a flurry of blue, before dipping back in for another long, hot kiss. 

With one hand rubbing over the curve of her ass, slow and meaningful, Kassandra slid her other back down along the side of Aspasia’s thigh and rounded it to seek out, with prying, gentle fingers, a very specific spot she had in mind. 

She groaned, involuntarily, when she found what she was looking for and lightly ran her fingers over the other woman’s wet, throbbing sex. She felt Aspasia’s body surge and heard the soft, leisurely sigh that escaped from her lips. Without waiting a minute longer, Kassandra moved in one powerful motion, hands moving quickly to carry Aspasia’s weight along with it, and pinned the woman down on the mound of pillows beneath them.

There was a gleam in Aspasia’s eyes as she watched Kassandra, no longer hiding her desires, burn a trail of lavish kisses down along the valley of her collarbone. Aspasia’s back arched in delight as Kassandra’s hand splayed across her bare chest, and felt the mercenary’s mouth, unrelenting, steadfastly approach the sensitive flesh that sat waiting between her thighs.

Kassandra kissed her deeply, first, on the inside of one thigh, before moving on to the other, fanning the flames that had pooled right in the center of Aspasia’s stomach until the stateswoman was calling out to her softly, to add a little push to what was already a very enthusiastic display of passion. 

“Good, Kassandra,” Aspasia lightly touched a hand to the back of Kassandra’s head, feeling the woman’s long hair tickle the inside of her thigh. “I'm here. I'm here now.”

Kassandra made a low sound at Aspasia’s encouragement, feeling very much like an animal submitting to its master, and finally relented, running her tongue along the length of Aspasia’s throbbing core. The moan she elicited from the stateswoman was already enough of a prize, but the Eagle Bearer never did like leaving things halfway done.

She pressed in, gently at first, and then felt the encouraging pressure of Aspasia’s hand against the back of her head. She nipped lightly at the sensitive flesh, relishing in its wetness and taste, and felt Aspasia’s body surge when she caught her pulsing clit between her lips, and sucked lightly.

It only took the Eagle Bearer a few moments more, hands splayed across Aspasia’s heaving chest and stomach, her ministrations growing faster and with intensity the more she heard Aspasia cry out, unrestrained and gloriously turned on. Kassandra thought, distractedly, that she had never heard Aspasia sound quite so free.

She snaked a hand downwards into the valley where she nestled her head, and, without preamble, pushed two fingers into Aspasia’s perfectly wet core. The Eagle Bearer lifted her head at last, eyes fixed on Aspasia’s, and an undeniable surge of energy between their bodies kept them both transfixed on the other. It was all far too much, and Aspasia threw her head back against the pillows with a guttural cry, hair spilling wildly across colorful silk. Her body jerked only once, but powerfully, before she came into Kassandra’s hand, the Eagle Bearer’s name on her lips like Kassandra had never heard before. 

Kassandra felt as though she had been robbed of her breath, watching Aspasia like this, having transformed into a wild vision of Aphrodite herself. _ No, _ Kassandra thought seriously, _ Better than Aphrodite. _ And a single word fell on her tongue, soothing and coaxing, the only way she knew how.

“Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually think the real Aspasia might not have been a courtesan, or owned a brothel where she sold services to the nobility of Ancient Greece, though playwrights wrote comedies and plays about her, spewing these rumors likely out of jealousy. BUUUUUT in-game, considering her friendship and affiliation with Anthousa, it made sense that she was. Just about the only baseless accusation by her critics within the fictional context of AC:O was that she only wanted to use Perikles, and never truly loved him.


	10. All the King's Horses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Creature of sentiment,” Aspasia said, in a bare whisper for only Kassandra to hear, “Look at what you've done to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said to myself, "We'll give an update on Friday." But I lied. Anyway, some minor stuff:
> 
> 1) I doubled back for a clean sweep of editing, changing the starting quote in 'By the Fates', and added random chapter notes ('One Athenian Night').
> 
> 2) Tags have been updated with new characters that are soon to make their appearance. 
> 
> 3) [ Here is a Ghost of Kosmos playlist that no one asked for! ](https://spoti.fi/2KTEhan)
> 
> And lastly thank you for all the great feedback and kudos - I'm writing because I know there are people who enjoy this as much as I do. <3

When she woke, the sun had risen high in the sky, and Aspasia was gazing down at her with an unknowable look in her eyes. The socialite and stateswoman was gently chewing on her lower lip, as though deep in thought about something. Kassandra shifted slightly to prop herself, if a little unsteady with sleep, up on one arm. 

For a moment, neither woman said anything, and were simply two people attempting to read something in each other.

“I thought you might be gone.” Kassandra’s mouth twitched into a smile, at Aspasia’s questioning look. “Good to know some things change.”

“This is my home,” Aspasia pointed out, and reached to press the flat of her palm against the Eagle Bearer’s cheek, thumb lightly grazing the warm skin there. Sunlight pressed down on their bare backs, the warmth interrupted only by the occasional brush of wind coming down from the east. “But I suppose I deserved that, for leaving you so coldly at Alkibiades’.”

“You deserved that,” Kassandra agreed, shifting her weight once more to rise, and caught Aspasia’s mouth with her own, deeply indulgent. “But,” she murmured against it, “you deserve so much more.”

Aspasia laughed, a quiet sound, and kissed her in return. “I warn you against spoiling me. I am a difficult woman to satisfy.”

“Mmm,” was all the Eagle Bearer said before throwing Aspasia back against the pillows without so much as a warning, or the slightest indication that they would be returning to their night of passion, so fast, so soon. A strong hand brushed against the inside of her thigh, waiting, as though permission was still something that needed to be gained. 

And there was that endearing look in Kassandra’s warm, genuine eyes.

Aspasia let out a sigh, already far too wet to protest, and spread her legs for the Eagle Bearer’s searching mouth. And Kassandra, renewed by a good night’s sleep, rose to her task eagerly. 

“You didn’t have to take me _ so _ seriously,” Aspasia said, biting back a whimper, “or so soon.” 

She felt the light rumble of Kassandra’s laugh, right there between her legs, and heard her teasing, snappy response. “I don’t see the rest of you complaining.”

Whatever she might have wanted to say melted away as Kassandra ran her tongue along the length of her wet slit, hopelessly lost to it all. Aspasia rocked her hips once, under the firm, reassuring weight of Kassandra’s hands, and felt a jolt of pleasure course through her body at the mounting pressure of her lover’s mouth and tongue. She held Kassandra’s head in place, too weak to actually exert any kind of control but still wanting to anchor there anyway, and moaned and hissed, alternating between enjoying herself and cursing the Eagle Bearer for being so attentive, so eager -

“So good,” she sighed, closing her eyes to let the surging waves overwhelm her once more.

When it was over, and Aspasia decided that Kassandra had come loudly enough, both of them were tangled in each other again. Kassandra reached to wipe the thin layer of sweat across Aspasia’s brow. It was startlingly gentle, and Aspasia felt as though she would collapse and crumble beneath such tenderness. Kassandra’s gaze softened, lust melting away into something more uncertain and unknowable.

“Runaway Spartan,” Aspasia said softly, gaze darting from the Eagle Bearer’s eyes to her lips, and then back again, “You look like you have a question for me.”

Kassandra smiled, slight. “Just the one.”

Aspasia idly traced the soft line of the mercenary’s jaw. “Go on,” she allowed.

For a moment, the Eagle Bearer looked as though she had reconsidered the question on the tip of her tongue, gaze flicking away briefly, before finally settling back on Aspasia. And the question was decidedly quick. “Why me?”

“Hmm,” Aspasia tilted her head, amused, “Why you, indeed. I could ask you the same question, coy and teasing, and drive you to the depths of frustration.”

Kassandra huffed through her nose, somewhat incredulous. “You’re beautiful.” Lightning, in the midst of day. Aspasia found herself blindsided by it, by the look of adoration that the Eagle Bearer was laying on her now. “And I couldn’t imagine it being anybody else.”

Aspasia touched a finger to Kassandra’s nose and prodded her there, playful. “Liar.”

“If you say so.” And Kassandra was rolling on top of her again, hair spilling over broad shoulders in a vision of passion. Aspasia felt a touch of desire coil tightly in the pit of her stomach, and reached up to frame that impossible, adoring face in her hands. 

“Creature of sentiment,” Aspasia said, in a bare whisper for only Kassandra to hear, “Look at what you've done to me.”

*

Phoibe, try as she might, could not stop looking from Kassandra to Aspasia. Her mouth opened so wide that Kassandra thought she might never be able to close it again, and the Eagle Bearer gave her little friend a half-teasing, half-admonishing poke to the forehead as they descended the stairs to the central courtyard.

“Stop staring,” Kassandra said.

“Okay,” Phoibe replied, never once averting her gaze.

Kassandra pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered something to herself. Aspasia, on the other hand, looked unbothered and a little amused, and lightly touched the top of Phoibe’s head. 

“Sleep well, little lamb?” Aspasia asked, a shade of endearment in her voice.

“Pretty good, Aspasia.” Phoibe seemed to shrink, a little shy, and smiled up at the one she served. “I woke up pretty early to fetch what you needed. Oh!” She clapped her hands together. “And I received a message - General Kleon is making his way here now, to seek your audience.”

“Oh?” A shadow crossed Aspasia’s features, briefly. “I do wonder what he wants.”

They found out soon enough, following Kleon’s swift arrival on horseback. Accompanied by two lieutenants, Kleon strode towards both women with hands clasped behind his back, and made no effort to conceal the smug curve of his lips as he looked from one woman to the other, understanding.

“And here I thought all that talk had no basis to it,” he said, though it was clear in his eyes that he meant quite the opposite.

“Come on, Kleon,” Kassandra folded her arms, faint irritation flaring, “You never came across to me as a small talk kind of man. Well, maybe just small.”

His gaze landed on Kassandra, briefly, and there she saw a glint of menace surface in piercing blue, before fading as quickly as it had come. He took slow steps past the women, as though he was, for the first time, learning how to admire his surroundings. Neither Aspasia nor Kassandra said anything, waiting, and Phoibe had retreated somewhere out of view, not wanting to interrupt.

And finally, Kleon spoke. “We have identified a traitor in our midst,” he said, casting a meaningful look at Aspasia.

“Indeed?” Aspasia folded her hands neatly in front of her, matching his gaze with strange intensity. “So you’ve come to look for the Eagle Bearer.”

Kassandra looked between the two of them, seemingly lost. And then, in the blink of an eye, the tension evaporated. 

“It’s a simple job,” Kleon said, suddenly conversational, and fixed his attention on Kassandra now. “Our military horses have succumbed to a strange disease, and we’ve determined it is the handiwork of an Athenian general who intends to defect soon.”

Kassandra inclined her head. “Horses?”

“To cripple us,” Kleon supplied, looking severely unimpressed. “Or do you not know how subterfuge works, Eagle Bearer?” He circled the two women, like a beast prowling around its prey, and finally came around to stand with his obedient, statuesque lieutenants once more. “Kill him, and serve Athens once more.”

The Eagle Bearer, with no reason to doubt or refuse him, cracked her knuckles.

“Where do I find him?”

*

Fort Phyle was a gargantuan beast, slumbering in the moonlight. 

Kassandra scaled, with practiced balance, up the side of the eastern wall, after determining that the nightly patrol had passed and was far away, and carefully found foothold after foothold in the cover of the night. At the top of the wall, she hoisted herself over the barrier, and landed on cobblestone noiselessly.

The main structure at the heart of Phyle was her destination, where her mark was sure to be found. She made her way there smoothly, tailing lone patrols and knocking them unconscious where she could, and navigated her way through the belly of the beast.

It was easier to move in the night, and Kassandra was doubly grateful when strong winds swept dark clouds over the moon to provide more cover. It freed up her movements, and she scaled the wall without fear, headed for the balcony. From what she could see through the window, a fire was still burning - and someone was still inside.

She swung her leg over, and dropped into the balcony.

There was a sliver of light that lined the doorway. Kassandra realised with a start that the door was unlocked - and judging by the absence of any evidence that indicated there could have possibly been a scuffle, it had been done so on purpose. Kassandra curled a hand around the hilt of Aspasia’s dagger, and pushed the door open with the other to meet with the unknown, waiting on the other side.

Rastus was a tall, olive-skinned man, medium length hair just cresting the collar of his Athenian breastplate, and looked to be no older than Kleon. Kassandra found him in the unlikeliest of positions, leaning against a desk propped up against the wall, with a sword in hand. And there was a graveness to his eyes, a grim line to his chin, that told Kassandra he had not run for a reason.

And that reason, he communicated with a single look, was her.

“I’ve been expecting you,” he said, voice trailing with smoke. Somewhere, somehow, a distant fire was burning inside him, and Kassandra couldn’t figure out why a man who wanted to defect was willing himself to look death in the face now.

“You should have run,” Kassandra said dryly. “On horseback, if you’d saved one for yourself.”

Rastus’ beard rippled. “What for? You are the one I want.”

“What,” Kassandra growled, pulling her dagger free, “are you on about?”

The Athenian general snarled, nostrils flaring, “I’m here to kill you, Eagle Bearer, to keep you from the Cult.”

A chill gripped Kassandra as she dropped into a defensive stance. The fire had turned out to be more than just a bushfire, and Rastus was rearing himself for his first strike, a harsh light of desperation in his eyes. It wasn’t quite what Kassandra had expected. Often, cultists met their deaths with determination, and struck from the shadows. Rastus had given himself to her like this, standing in the light, for a reason yet unknown.

It took an instant for her to realise, from the way his hand trembled around the hilt of his sword, that Rastus was afraid.

“What are you protecting,” Kassandra asked slowly, watching the line of his body tense and freeze up. “Rastus, you didn’t kill those horses, did you?”

“You’ll kill him,” Rastus said darkly, as though he didn’t hear her, “If you got your hands on him, you’d kill him for what he did. And that is something I cannot allow.”

“The fuck are you on about?” Kassandra asked, louder now. 

“I love him. You understand, don’t you,” Rastus’ lower lip quivered violently, “that love will make you do the darkest things?”

Kassandra barely had time to question him another time before he lunged at her, howling with rage. And yet, at the corners of her mind, something told her she knew what he was speaking of. But instinct willed her to remain focused, and she watched her assailant advance.

But the man had long since been compromised by emotion and a touch of madness, and there was no precision or discipline to his movement. Kassandra sidestepped him easily in one fluid motion, and rounded on him to strike out with her dagger. Spinning wildly, Rastus raised his blade to parry, but he had already walked into a grave of his own making. He punched, daringly, at Kassandra’s side, only to be stopped by the steel grip of the Eagle Bearer’s hand around his wrist.

She delivered a powerful kick, right into the center of his abdomen, and sent him crashing against the wall. He wheezed painfully, scrambling to his feet, and swayed with imbalance as he prepared to parry another strike. Kassandra brought down her weapon against his, and it clattered uselessly out of his hand.

Possessed, Rastus thrust out both hands and clamped them tight around Kassandra’s throat. But it was futile, despite the force of his strength. Kassandra drove her dagger into his stomach, golden hilt glinting in the firelight, and felt his death grip loosen. Blood spilled from his wound, fatal, and he stumbled backwards, hands clutching at where he had been hurt.

Kassandra towered over him, a shadow against the backlight, and reached to wrench her dagger free from the writhing man.

He spoke with a dark edge in his voice, blood spraying, “You… will… understand… why.”

And then he was gone with a final, jerking breath, and the light faded from his fearful eyes.

Kassandra looked at his crumpled, bleeding form for a long moment, before finally turning away. Her gaze ran over the desk where he’d first been leaning, and saw a single roll of papyrus there on the gleaming wooden surface, as though all this time, it had been waiting for her to notice it.

She unrolled the letter with bloodied hands, and read the words that jumped out at her with a strange, familiar voice that carried them.

_ You are special, Rastus, and unlike any other man I’ve been with. And that is why we must flee this night, as Sparta edges close. A ghost hunts us with an eagle at her beck and call, savage in the night. I cannot hope to best her, but the Sage has given me salvation. I will finish his last command, for he has given us passage, and find you by the olive tree. You know the one. _

_ Your devoted love, _ _N_

*

“He’s dead. It’s done.” 

In the long shadow cast by Athena herself, where Kleon waited, Kassandra delivered the news coldly, a tight line to her jaw. 

Kleon’s back was turned to her, but even in the dark she could see the slow bob of his head as he nodded.

“Then you have served Athens well, _ misthios_,” Kleon said, a strangeness to his voice. It sounded almost delighted, with a pleasing lilt in the way he addressed her. "Now, was there anything else?"

“I suppose not.” 

The Athenian general chuckled, and cast a most peculiar glance in her direction as he turned. The shadows that enveloped him made him look far too sinister, cloaked in the robes of Hades himself, and he made it all the more worse by smiling.

“Then fly, little eagle,” he said, waving a hand, “and return to your heart’s desire.”

Kassandra did, with an unknown terror lodged tight in her throat.


	11. Loss as the Measure of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “All men falter and give themselves away in the light, Kassandra. In time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boy. ohhhh. boy.
> 
> (thank you thank you thank you to everyone who's spared some feedback/kind words.)

Aspasia’s fingers were gentle against her scalp, and Kassandra allowed herself to close her eyes as she sat in the socialite’s private chambers, letting the scent of myrrh soothe her with every breath. On her back was the warm, comforting weight of the older woman, leaning into her as she smoothed out the knots in her hair. 

They had been like this for a while now, and stateswoman said nothing in the time of Kassandra’s return until this moment. She was watching the back of the Eagle Bearer’s head with a distant look in her eyes, as though she were trying to divine Kassandra’s deepest, most secret thoughts just by reaching out with her mind.

Kassandra willed herself to focus on the sound of Aspasia’s breathing, slow and deep. It was as though she had been cast out into the Aegean, where thoughts swirled around her like dark, turbulent waters. Her hands, resting limp over her knees, curled into fists as the ocean stirred, deep and angry. 

Aspasia must have noticed, because suddenly there came the soft touch of a hand, clasped over her trembling fist.

“Kassandra,” she crooned, soft in the night. Phoibe and the rest of her handmaidens had long since gone to bed, and there was nothing but the sound of the wind howling low and solemn outside the window. “I’m here.”

The Eagle Bearer exhaled, shoulders sinking with an invisible weight pressed down on either side. In her mind were so many voices, questioning and agitated with no end to their terrible energy. They coalesced into a singular, chilling thought that slid its way down the length of Kasaandra’s spine, eliciting an involuntary shudder. 

_ I killed the wrong man. _

She lowered her head, unable to make sense of it all. Kleon had found the evidence and pointed her in no uncertain direction towards a man who intended to turn his back on Athens, and be marked a traitor forever. And yet Rastus held no regard for the fate of the Athenian military horses, nor did he seem to even realise it was the reason Kassandra had stolen into Fort Phyle with her dagger at the ready.

The memory of his face, contorted with rage, fear, and desperation, was burned into her mind. Kassandra took another breath, and heard Aspasia calling for her again.

“Kassandra.” Movement. The gentle breeze of a robe as it fluttered. And when she opened her eyes, Aspasia cupped her face in her hands, gods-sent and so impossibly beautiful.

The Eagle Bearer blinked back the emotion that threatened to well up in her and spill out. It was rage, it was confusion, it was the frustration that came with groping in the dark.

“He didn’t do it,” she finally said, and watched shock flicker across Aspasia’s expression like a shadow in flight.

“The Athenian general,” Aspasia murmured. Her eyes were seeking an answer now, as well, to a grave question. “How are you so sure?”

Kassandra pulled out the roll of papyrus she’d kept close to her since departing from Fort Phyle, having tucked it away in her armor. Rastus’ dried blood, smeared over its corners, was now a deep shade of brown. Aspasia gently pried the cursed letter from Kassandra’s hands, and swept through its contents.

Her gaze narrowed into dark slits. “A cultist,” she said. “So you think…”

“He took the fall.” She looked up at Aspasia, who now appeared to be deep in thought. “And I think I know who the cultist is.”

“Nicodemus.” A scowl made its place on Aspasia’s features, and the stateswoman rolled up the letter before putting it aside. 

“It has to be.” Kassandra swallowed with effort, and her next words were weighed with immeasurable guilt. “I should have killed him that night. And Kleon would never have sentenced the wrong man to death.”

Aspasia reached for Kassandra, letting the flat of her palm meet the Eagle Bearer’s cheek, and leaned in. 

“No.” Her voice was shrouded in a thick fog. “Rastus would have deserted Athens, regardless. You killed a man who might not have been guilty of this crime, but his heart was corrupted beyond redemption.”

_ Love will make you do the darkest things. _

Kassandra’s brows knit together, gaze wandering from Aspasia’s face. “I need to find Nicodemus—and _ end _him.”

“In time.” Aspasia stroked her cheek, thumb light across her skin. There was an edge to her voice, now. “All men falter and give themselves away in the light, Kassandra. In time.”

Kassandra lifted her chin, and Aspasia caught her gently there with one hand. “You sound… so certain.”

“I know the Cult and its ways.” A strange note entered her voice. “Just as I know they hunt your mother, Myrrine, I know that Nicodemus - if he is to be taken seriously - will show his face to you again. So we wait.”

Kassandra’s mouth parted as if to speak, but only felt the dead weight of silence on her tongue. Aspasia’s gaze flickered over her lips, contemplative, before she leaned in to press a searing kiss there. Something, in that moment, sprang to life within Kassandra, like Zeus himself had driven a bolt of lightning through her skull and let it course to her very fingertips. She _ ached_, she realised slowly, and moved. 

She reached for Aspasia, hands sliding around her waist, and pulled her close. Kassandra buried her face in the slender curve of the older woman’s neck, laying kiss after kiss in a slow trail towards her jaw. Aspasia turned her head to make room, and let out a fluttering sigh.

“Stay with me tonight,” Aspasia said softly. 

Kassandra scraped her teeth against the woman’s jawline, and ghosted her lips over it as she spoke. “There is nowhere else to be.”

“Oh,” Aspasia let out a soft little moan that tugged tightly at Kassandra, “But Myrrine. When will you...”

“Tomorrow.” Kassandra’s voice edged into a low growl as she nipped gently at Aspasia’s neck, as though it was all she could do to keep herself from splitting apart. “I can’t stand—staying still.”

Aspasia’s eyes closed shut as she felt the Eagle Bearer’s hands slide beneath her robe. “Tomorrow, then,” she agreed, something taking shape in her voice. It skirted close to certainty. “Good.”

Kassandra leaned, and Aspasia lowered herself beneath the mercenary’s weight. They fell against the carpet together, lost, and stripped each other of their layers until they were bare once more.

*

In the cover of the night, Aspasia moved like a shadow.

Phoibe’s small form was tucked away in a corner, and in the moonlight Aspasia watched the gentle rise and fall of the girl’s silhouette as she slept. But she didn’t come here to linger and gaze upon the girl, Aspasia reminded herself. In the darkness of the room, she reached for another who slumbered on the other side of the room.

Danae stirred awake without fuss, as though the handmaiden had been lying in wait all this time for her mistress to come collect her, and rose to her feet. No older than eighteen or nineteen, she came to be about Aspasia’s height, and stood waiting for what it was she had been woken for.

Aspasia’s voice was soft, but her words rang as clear as steel. “Nicodemus yet lives. He eats out of the Sage’s hand.”

Even in the dark, she could see Danae’s expression shift. The moonlight slanted across her young face and shrouded half of it from view, but the determination in her gaze was apparent. Momentarily, her attention flickered over to where Phoibe lay sleeping, before returning to her mistress. 

“Kleon grows bold,” the young woman said. “Does he know? What you intend to do with the Eagle Bearer?”

Aspasia waved a hand, chasing the dark thought away. “Even if he does, he will not risk anything. And Nicodemus cares not for either of us, now. That makes _ him _the most dangerous of us all.”

The air between them grew heavy with the weight of Aspasia’s words. For a moment, neither woman said anything. Phoibe stirred lightly in her sleep, and muttered something indistinct about an eagle. _ Chara. _

“So,” Danae murmured, after the moment had passed and they ascertained the girl was still fast asleep, “Shall I find him for you?” She watched Aspasia keenly.

“Find him. _ Remove _ him.” Aspasia edged away, to the doorway. Firelight flickered around the line of her profile, and Danae saw her turn back to look. “She departs from Attika tomorrow. He must never reach her, Danae.”

Danae bobbed her head, and silently rose to her feet. Aspasia departed before she did, returning down the walkway that led to her private chambers where Kassandra still remained, fast asleep.

She reclaimed her place beside the Eagle Bearer, and found that it was still warm. On better nights, she would have fallen back asleep with little trouble—but tonight was not one of those. Instead, Aspasia shifted, careful not to wake Kassandra, and propped herself up on one arm to look down at the sleeping mercenary with unbidden intensity. Not a single flutter of her eyelashes or twitch in her expression escaped Aspasia’s notice, all testimony to the dream that was surely gripping Kassandra in her sleep.

“What lands do you walk, so far away from me,” she murmured, sweeping aside loose strands of hair from Kassandra’s face, “that you should look so peaceful?”

No response came forth from those lips - only a soft whimper. The sound was a tiny, fragile thing, and nearly left Aspasia undone. 

She felt as though someone was pulling at invisible strings, guiding her to press a kiss on the Eagle Bearer’s forehead. Her next words spilled forth without warning, like a tide she had been holding back without realising. 

“Don’t make me wait longer than I must.” A thumb brushed against the corner of the sleeping woman’s mouth, gentle. Aspasia waited, as though expecting Kassandra to wake up at that moment to offer a verbal promise. When none came, and the Eagle Bearer remained lost in her dreams, Aspasia drew back to lay against a pillow. 

Her gaze never wavered, not even once, and she remained like that for the rest of the night, all the while ignoring the strange weight that was settling over her chest for reasons yet unknown.

*

The Port of Piraeus was bustling when she arrived. Fishermen were milling back and forth, hauling their nets bursting with fresh catches off their boats and calling out to each other with the kind of camaraderie one would only find after years at sea with the same faces who shared a love for the same trade. In the air was the taste of salt, and the sea breeze was cool and liberating. Kassandra swerved left, then right, snaking her way through the labyrinth of Athenian common folk, eyes fixed on the red sails of the _ Adrestia_, billowing in the wind.

On the docks she found Herodotos with his back turned to her, and the familiar sight of his blue hood pulled up around his head. Aboard the ship was Barnabas, distantly shouting orders to their crew as he made his rounds in preparation for the approaching voyage. 

“Herodotos. What are you doing, standing here?” Kassandra came to a halt by the man’s side, eyeing him with a half-smile. She had an inkling that he was soon to confirm, judging by the hesitant look on his face.

“I’d rather board when it’s time to,” Herodotos said, arms folded across his chest, “And avoid throwing up all over the deck prematurely.”

Kassandra chuckled. “It’s going to happen sooner or later.”

“Barnabas’ head will erupt,” Herodotos laughed, turning to her. “I’m sorry to hear about what happened at the theatre.”

“Oh, that.” Kassandra’s smile wavered, and there was a tension slowly clawing its way back to her shoulders. “It’s over, now. I’d rather not think about it, and hope Athens will forget all about it when we return.”

Herodotos’ gaze softened, but it was not pity she saw in it. “I daresay Perikles is hoping for the same thing.”

Kassandra sucked in a breath. “So, you’ve seen him.” Her eyes were downcast, now. “Did he… say anything?”

The question hung in the air between them as they watched the waters of the Aegean push up against the docks, waves reaching for land but never quite succeeding. In the distance, on the horizon, Kassandra spotted several Athenian sails at full mast, and watched the tiny fleet cut through the currents with no real interest. Her mind was miles away, in some unknown land.

“It is not the first time he’s had to endure such… unpleasantness,” Herodotos tried, letting his hands fall away to his sides. “And yet he keeps his sorrows to himself, making them known to no one.”

“Not even Aspasia?” Kassandra asked, a touch of concern in her voice. The guilt lapped at her gently as she mentioned her, knowing full well what she’d done the past few nights behind the king’s back.

Herodotos shook his head, hood fluttering. “I do believe they only spoke once, since the play. And she has been absent from his side ever since. Not once have they been seen in public together, and he attends his debates, his symposiums, alone.” He fixed a thoughtful look on Kassandra. “You wouldn’t have had anything to do with that… did you?”

A touch of heat made its way to her face, and Kassandra was certain it showed in her expression even as she faked a cough into her fist. “We’ve… seen each other. Recently.” 

Their farewell had been a chaste affair after the sun rose. It was as though the night had stolen their words from them as it departed to make way for another new day in Athens. But Aspasia had pressed a single kiss to her cheek and squeezed her wrist before she left, as though she had hidden secret words in those gestures meant only for Kassandra.

Phoibe had looked so heartbroken, too, so Kassandra willed herself not to look back as she left on horseback, letting Phobos carry her forward in a flurry of dust and sand. Now, standing on the edge of the docks, where the Aegean waited to carry her to her mother, Kassandra could not help but feel a distant ache throb between her ribs. Yet the image of her mother lingered in her mind, and she held fast to it, even now.

The Athenian beside her let out a sigh, bringing her back to the present, though it didn’t quite sound like the judgment Kassandra had been expecting. “Perhaps then we are lucky to leave today,” he said, turning to face the sea once more.

“Until the dust settles, at least,” Kassandra said, wringing her hands. “Then maybe I can find an opportunity to speak to Perikles.”

Herodotos smiled at that, and nodded approvingly. “Not many people would face difficult situations head on. But then again,” he glanced briefly at her, “you’re not like most people.”

“You know, Aspasia said the same thing.” Kassandra shook her head, somewhat incredulous. “I am _ not _that great, Herodotos.”

“Only time will tell,” he said, and beckoned to her. Barnabas was waving at them now, signalling that all was well, and it was time to go. “Come. Now is as good a time as any.”

*

Long after the _ Adrestia _had pushed away from Piraeus’ docks, and after the sun had lowered itself back into the distant horizon, a young woman was crossing the sieged planes of Attika with purpose in her every step. Fastened to the inside of her thigh was a lone dagger, lying in wait for its intended mark, and Danae could not help but feel as though it weighed especially heavy tonight.

In the fading light, she saw the distant altar, looming as she made her approach on foot. A horse would have made the journey all the more swift, but Danae found herself reluctant to do so. And yet Aspasia’s instruction had been clear.

_ Find him. Remove him. _

The sky was dark by the time she found him, and the night drenched him in a thick blanket of shadows. Yet she knew every line to him, and recognised him immediately even just by staring into his back. She had chased that back for years as a child, calling his name with joy bursting from her chest, and pleading with him to slow down so she could catch up. She remembered him never relenting, never letting her have her way with him, and always kept himself one step ahead of her.

Even now, he was doing the same. And he would continue to be so stubborn, even in the face of death, Danae thought bitterly. Those distant memories reared themselves at her, and she felt her chest grow tight when she called out to him. “Nico.”

“Danae. I got your message.” She saw him lift his gaze to the moon hovering over them. “What comes for me, little sister?”

She retrieved her dagger as she responded, “Fate, it would seem.”

“_Fate_,” Nicodemus rolled the word thoughtfully on his tongue, feeling its weight. “I do wonder what you see when you peer into the night.”

“No way out.” Danae hated the crack in her voice. She held on tightly to the hilt of her dagger so she would not fall apart. “You should have just run, Brother. Rastus would have slowed you down,” she swallowed quickly, “and in the end, he did.”

Nicodemus turned on her in that moment, an awful light in his eyes. His lips curled into a feral little snarl, and for a moment Danae could have sworn her brother vanished, and in his place stood a dark stranger who had fallen from his path.

“Rastus…” His bottom lip trembled, violent. “He always was a fool. And how I _loved_ him for it.” 

“Nico,” Danae murmured, taking a step forward, “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

“Oh, I am a difficult man, Danae. You know this. We used to make so much trouble together back home.” Nicodemus laughed, head tipped back. “I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t give you a hard time.”

Danae’s mouth curled into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I remember.” 

A moment passed between brother and sister, bringing along a horrible chill with it. Nicodemus drew his weapon slowly, as though he was making a show out of it for Danae to watch, and dragged the flat of his dagger over his tongue. “So,” he said at last, “The Ghost is anxious.”

“She has a plan,” Danae hissed, harsh into the night, “And if you just came back—to her, to _ me_—we could carry on together, and finish the job. Kleon could never—”

“I don’t care.” Nicodemus closed his eyes briefly, and tried to picture the face of his lover, now dead and lost to him forever. _ Charon, ferry him safely across the Styx. _“I don’t care about what Aspasia wants. I just want them all to burn.”

“Nico. _ Please_.”

Her plea fell on deaf ears, and he seemed to glide toward her as he moved, no longer a man but a dark phantom. 

“I will tell you a few things, Danae,” he said, smoothing the pain from his voice, “I _ will _ kill the Eagle Bearer. I will dig into the depths and _ tear _ the Ghost’s heart from her chest, and then I will rip the Sage’s head from his shoulders for _ all _ of Athens to see. I will do all of this and _ more_, because I have nothing left, because order _ cannot _ contain itself.” He touched his palm to his sister’s cheek, and brushed his thumb over the lone tear that streaked down her face. “_Kosmos _is a liar. Order has failed us. And if you stand in my way, I _will_ strike you down.”

Danae closed her eyes to stem the tide of emotion, and took half a step back. In that brief time, she had made her decision. It solidified within her, an awful, heavy thing, and drove her to pull back the dagger in her hand, ready to strike—

But Nicodemus had always kept himself one step ahead of her. He moved like a ghost, noiseless in the wind, and plunged his blade into her stomach before she even knew what was happening. He pushed, carving deeper, and let out a little sigh, as though there was something banal and trite about murdering one's own family. Blood bloomed against the light fabric of her tunic as she stumbled back, mouth hanging open.

Nicodemus rushed forward to catch her as she fell, and there was no word in her mind that could describe the pain she felt. It was more than his blade piercing her body. It was the look in his eyes as he gazed down at her, laying her gently on the ground before the altar of love.

There was nothing in those blue eyes she recognised.

“Oh, Danae,” he murmured, lowering his head as she sputtered and choked on her own blood. “How could you?”

She clutched at him weakly, a hand trembling around his forearm. Nicodemus stared at her hand for a long time, pensive, and only wrenched himself free after Danae had breathed her last breath. He swept a gaze over her unmoving expression now, captured by the way her eyes remained wide open, filled with betrayal, with rage. Blood streamed down her chin like a river.

He reached over and drew her eyes shut, and bowed his head. Then he laughed, a shrill sound that echoed across the sieged plains, carried by the wind.

*

Far away, nestled in the heart of Athens, Aspasia watched the empty path outside. And when Danae did not return, she remained where she stood, until Perikles' voice came from behind to rouse her from dark thoughts. "Aspasia."

She turned, something unknowable in her eyes. Perikles watched her, terribly patient, and waited with hands folded behind his back. Ever the kind one. Ever so trusting. Despite everything, he stood before her without the intention to strike or lash out. Aspasia took one step toward him.

"We must speak."

***

_ If it is necessary for us to do anything, direct us and architect. - _ Aristophanes_, ‘Peace’_

* * *

END: PART I

* * *


	12. INTERLUDE: Deimos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And we have waited long enough to get what we want, haven’t we?”

On the coast of Euboea facing south, the sea breeze was strong and insistent. A flutter of restlessness drove Deimos to his feet, and he approached the edge of the water with heavy steps, watching the waves come in and pull away in a never-ending dance with the shore. He lifted his gaze toward the distant mountains of Attika, and imagined himself cutting a path through the ocean to where he was meant to be. 

The Eagle Bearer, his sister, was on her way back to Athens with information on the runaway Spartan, Myrrine. And yet here he stood on a lonely beach, fists clenched at his side, exhaling smoke as he waited, waited, _ waited_. Two long years, and there was nothing he could show for it after biding his time in the dark.

Deimos closed his eyes and willed himself to focus on the Aegean’s wordless whispers, as though seeking some sort of divine directive or instruction. _ Destiny_, he reminded himself. It was for destiny alone that he was here.

The man that had called him to Euboea held a name he’d only heard once or twice in his dealings with the Ghost. A sleek young thing that the Cult had picked up at the tender age of fifteen, along with a sister that refused to leave his side, and had thrust under the wing of the Ghost after she rose to leadership to be her eyes, ears, and—occasionally—the dagger in the dark. 

But the Ghost did not often trouble herself with spilling blood. No, she dabbled in subterfuge, in the moving of puzzle pieces behind a drawn curtain, and spent her days surrounded by statesmen, aristocrats, and sophists—all within the safe walls of the _ polis_. There, a king bestowed his favour on her, and gave her the world.

Deimos felt indignation and anger ripple through him like a wave. It was not the way. The Cult should be _ more_.

“So, you came.”

Deimos, at last, tore his gaze from Attika on the horizon, and turned. “After that compelling message, agent of the Ghost?” He watched the man bristle at his chosen title. “I’m intrigued.”

Nicodemus bit back a grimace. “I’m no longer under her employ. Like you, I broke free.”

Deimos huffed, and his voice rumbled with a note of approval. “And so you did.”

“I know what you want, Deimos.” The younger man took slow steps forward, hands folded behind his back. He carried himself with the sort of grace one would expect from a high-born man. “And we have waited long enough to get what we want, haven’t we?”

“You presume to know me,” Deimos said, without fire. He followed Nicodemus with his gaze as the man circled him, until he slid out of sight. “I would not be so arrogant in my first dealing with the Chosen One.”

“Yes, yes,” Nicodemus’ smooth voice slithered from somewhere behind him, “I know you will inherit the Greek world, and you are the one Kosmos raised to renew it in fire, handsome and powerful and _ terrible_. But the Ghost has her defenses, and you cannot hope to best her while she is, on all sides, protected by lovely Athens.”

“And you think you know the way.”

Nicodemus reappeared from the corner of his vision, and came to a stop before Deimos. A smile creased his features. “That depends on whether you will join me.”

“And do what,” Deimos tilted his head at Nicodemus, watching him keenly.

“Strike at her heart.” Nicodemus bared his teeth, smile sharpening. “For better or for worse, Perikles must die. She loves him, and that is the blade we’ll use to twist into her back.”

“Then the Sage will take his place as king. That is what you want?” Deimos’ brows lowered into a frown. “He has called for your death, you know. _ Both _ of them have marked you.”

Nicodemus’ eyes flashed. “All the better for him to fall from greater heights. But first,” he gestured toward the horizon, “we must disarm the Ghost and steal from her the power of influence. And if all that talk about the blood fever plague ravaging Athens is to be believed, then the hour of decision is finally upon us.”

Deimos eyed Nicodemus, thoughtful, before casting a gaze out to sea. Now, across such a great distance, Attika appeared to him as a jewel of promise. 


	13. Achilles, Come Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Love is a singular comfort, in times as troubled as these.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a long one, signalling the start of a very long, very dramatic Part II. I'll try not to let us linger on the bits we've already seen in-game. 
> 
> The next one is going to kill me. Thanks Ubisoft I hate it

* * *

**PART II**

* * *

_ We know the truth, not only by the reason, but also by the heart. _

\- Blaise Pascal

***

Daybreak was on the horizon. 

Kassandra stood with her back to the wind, leaning against the tall, sturdy wooden structure that made up the _ Adrestia_’s main mast as she watched the stars fade to make way for the dawn. She had been the first to climb back on deck, though it would be closer to the truth to say that she hadn’t been able to sleep at all since leaving Keos. Her eyes were bright, as though the sun rose in them first before the rest of the world.

The _ Adrestia _was cutting through the Aegean at a speed she deemed acceptable enough to keep herself from prowling up and down the deck impatiently. Poseidon, Barnabas had said, seemed to be in good spirits. Kassandra claimed no divine connection to the gods as a priestess would have, but she had agreed with him anyway. Even now in the early hours of dawn, the winds held the sea god’s might and favour, keeping the ship’s sails hard at work. 

Kassandra, who was now looking up at the red sails flapping and billowing fiercely, wanted nothing more than for these winds to carry her forward to whatever was coming next.

They had departed from Xenia’s island three days ago with the last pieces of the puzzle regarding Myrrine. And in that time since, sleep was a faraway inclination, lost to the Eagle Bearer. Herodotos had made his concern for her health known, but Barnabas knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t be willingly put to bed by anyone, not even a close friend, and allowed her to spend the rest of the voyage free of well-meaning nagging. 

All that was well and good. After two years of carving through the fog of mystery and chasing down her past—her only good link to the person she used to be—Kassandra had come out of it with a name on her lips that refused to depart from her: Phoenix. Her heart lifted again, for the hundredth time or so since the _ Adrestia _left Keos far behind. 

They were so _ close_.

Kassandra tried to conjure up what she would say to Myrrine when she finally saw her. But instead of finding clarity in her thoughts, she found words, far too many, pressed up against each other and overlapping in their enthusiasm. They crowded her from figuring out something that wasn’t unintelligible, emotional rambling, and she ended the attempt with a little sigh. 

She would just have to think of something before then. Maybe Herodotos would help her if she asked nicely.

“There she is,” came Barnabas voice from behind her. “You never get views like this by snoozing off, eh?”

“Hmm?”

“Look.” 

He came up beside her, his good eye fixed on what was far ahead. Kassandra followed his gaze and saw it immediately, sitting at the edge of the world. She could have remembered the shape of it and its lines even squinting through a rainstorm. 

Warmth bloomed deep in her chest as Kassandra looked upon the looming form of Attika, drowned in the soft, half-light of dawn. 

Beyond, Athens awaited.

“You’re right,” she agreed with Barnabas, unable to take her eyes off it. Distantly, a familiar ache tugged at her. “I don’t think I could ever get enough.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned and began to scale the wooden pole, wanting to get a better look as they made their return to Athenian waters.

*

Nicodemus did not fancy himself to be the kind of man who troubled himself with open conflict. 

In his years working with the Ghost, he had followed obediently in her footsteps, and stuck to a less difficult way of existence. He found true power in the shadows and learnt to be nimble and alert early on in his education, and realised all too soon that men were always weaker in the night—nearly, in every sense.

It was the only thing she had taught him that he would be grateful for.

The Athenian soldier that stood guard at the entrance of Perikles’ residence looked to be close to collapsing at any moment. Nicodemus watched him lean against the length of his spear and sway violently before snapping back into position as he jolted awake. 

Briefly entertained, the dark-haired man slipped away onto an alternate path ridden with shrubbery, neatly lined against the perimeter of his intended destination.

He touched a palm to the cool stone of the wall that ringed Perikles’ estate as he walked, and strained his ears to pick up any sort of stray conversation that would give away more positions of the guards he knew lurked beyond. 

When he found a seam in the wall, he stopped to listen for a minute longer before reaching up to hoist himself up and over. The wall was weathered and imperfect, and it provided him with a good enough foothold. Once he dropped in, Nicodemus pressed himself flush against the wall, and kept to the friendly shadows.

The Athenian soldiers were few in number, here. Patrols were sparse and slowed with the heaviness of fatigue in the night. Nicodemus slipped past the kitchens and servants’ quarters with little trouble, and disappeared up the steps to the roof. There, the doors to Perikles’ private chamber greeted him. His heart hammered in his chest, frenzied with anticipation.

His steps were light and noiseless as he made his approach, and without hesitating he pressed a hand to the heavy wood and pushed.

*

The plague had come to Athens, and had not been kind to Perikles. Sleep had become a light, cruel affair, and every so often Perikles would find himself waking in the middle of the night, startled by sounds that he might or might not have imagined.

Tonight was very much one of those nights. The slight creak of the door awoke him, and his eyes fluttered open heavily as he struggled to pull himself into a seated position. 

A strange shadow crossed the room in a blur, rounding behind him with a heavy presence.

Before his eyes could adjust, and before he could call out for whoever had intruded at such an hour, Perikles felt the cool touch of steel to the middle of his throat and a strong hand curled around the hem of his robe’s collar.

The shadow spoke to him with a smooth voice. “I humbly request my king’s silence.” He felt the slightest bit more pressure to the blade at his throat. When he did not protest, and instead settled calmly in his captor’s grip, the voice spoke again. “Very good, Perikles. Allow me to tell you a secret—one that, I think, has been kept from you for far too long.”

“You appear to be a concerned friend,” Perikles said, his voice thin and reedy. “Who are you, really?”

“No one of importance.” Nicodemus grazed his lips over the king’s ear, and breathed slow there. “But I know you are in grave danger.”

Perikles’ brow lowered into a frown, though he remained perfectly still. “Surely you jest. Are you not the one holding a dagger to my throat?” 

“Precautions. Nothing more.” The blade lifted from Perikles’ skin, though it still hovered close to his bobbing throat. “Someone close to you has taken advantage of your trust. The Cult’s influence bleeds into your men like venom. I am here to tell you who she is.”

Perikles lifted his chin and attempted to turn his head, but Nicodemus held him firmly in place, tutting quietly. “Ah, ah.” He chuckled, and touched the sharp edge of his blade against the king’s neck once more. “Kosmos has come to Athens—and it has been here for a long time. The one we call the Ghost leads us, and she holds all of Athens in the palm of her hand.”

“And you would expose your own leader like this?” Perikles swallowed before continuing, “Why?”

“That is none of your concern.” Nicodemus drew away from Perikles’ ear. When the king launched into a coughing fit, he withdrew his blade at last. “You’re sick, I see.”

Perikles did not turn and instead bent over slightly, catching his breath. Nicodemus held him there, grip slacking to offer the king some space to collect himself. 

“You’re observant,” Perikles finally said. He paused to cough again, a wetter, harsher sound than the last one. “Will you give me the name, or kill me where I sleep?”

The king heard a soft, noiseless laugh. Mocking. And his answer came at last, a dreadful whisper pressed against his ear. It was a name long buried in the center of his heart, a name so beautiful he didn't think he would ever hear another like it. And yet, in this moment, it inspired nothing but a dark, sinking feeling inside him.

_Aspasia._

Perikles stirred to life, attempting to twist his neck so he could lay his eyes on his intruder. But Nicodemus was far stronger than a man ridden with the plague, and held him firmly in place.

“Come to the Parthenon if you want more answers,” Nicodemus crooned, and flipped the dagger over in his hand, poised to strike with its hilt. “I understand betrayal can cut deep. I’ve been there, myself.”

“You—!”

But Perikles was cut off mid-sentence by a heavy blow to the back of his head. In an instant, he was out like a light. Nicodemus gently laid the king back where he had been resting, as though he were someone in charge of his care and not at all an unwelcome intruder, before vanishing into the night.

*

The Port of Piraeus didn’t look the way Kassandra remembered it.

With an awful, sinking feeling in her stomach, she stepped off the ramp leading off the _ Adrestia _—and drank in the sight of a fallen Athens. Everything looked drained of colour, and Athenians were staggering about, left and right, and clutching at each other with a shadow over each face. 

She heard sharp, wet coughs as she pushed through the fishing market, once populated with fishermen and merchants pulling into the docks, and looked around with her mouth slightly parted. 

“I can’t believe it,” Barnabas said behind her, “The _malakas _plague. Here!”

Up the path ahead, she could see families rushing themselves into their homes. A man passed by her in a hurry, clutching the body of a young girl close to his chest as he called for help, for a doctor, _ anything. _

There was a heavy smell to the air, nothing at all to do with the storm clouds that were gathering over the port. Kassandra realised belatedly, as she passed a burning pile of bodies, that it was decay and sickness. Her insides churned at the sight of charred, faceless bodies lying about on either side of the street, sometimes right in the middle, and turned to Barnabas. Herodotos caught up to them then, panting slightly, and matched her gaze with a horrified one of his own.

The implication in it was clear.

“We need to find Perikles,” was all she said before she started down the long path back to Greater Athens.

It didn’t take her long, vaulting over tiled roofs and cutting a straight path for Perikles’ estate. It was starting to rain a little, and Kassandra couldn’t help but think Poseidon had been a fucking liar. Why else would the journey here have been so smooth, so peaceful?

The port melted away behind her as she passed the walls that stood in defense of Athens, and pushed her way through an ocean of the sick. Along the way, she crashed into a child that had been running at breakneck speed, a blur that she hadn’t noticed in her mounting panic. Kassandra stumbled into a man who had just been standing in the middle of the street, hunched over and coughing. 

Somewhere behind her, a familiar voice called out. “Kassandra!”

“Phoibe?” Kassandra turned, and was nearly winded when Phoibe launched herself into the mercenary for a tight hug. Despite herself, she wrapped her arms around the girl in response, and pulled her even closer. For one reason or another, Kassandra’s heart was running wild with dread. “Where are you going in such a rush?”

“I’m doing something for Aspasia,” Phoibe said, chest puffing, and pried herself loose from Kassandra’s hold on her. “I’ll catch you later at Perikles’ estate, I won’t be late!”

“Wait!”

But Phoibe disappeared as quickly as she had come, and Kassandra slowly rose to her feet as she craned her neck, trying to catch sight of her little friend. But she had blended so well into the crowd, and more people were gathering in groups now. Kassandra had little choice but to continue on her way.

She hadn’t been far from Perikles’ home by the time she encountered Phoibe. Athenian guards parted for her, recognising her instantly, and she emerged into a very crowded courtyard. Alkibiades, Sokrates, and other familiar faces littered the grounds, and they all turned to look when she emerged from the light rain outside. But Kassandra only had eyes for one, standing stark in the center of it all. 

For a brief moment, the heated galloping in her chest died down.

“Kassandra.” Aspasia held out her hands and made her approach. And though her next words were not the ones awaiting desperate release at the forefront of her mind, Kassandra steeled herself and focused.

“Where is Perikles?”

Aspasia did not answer straight away and gripped her by the forearm, the gesture filled with urgency. She pulled her aside, well out of earshot of anyone else, and there was heat in her voice when she spoke, “He is sick, and refuses to come down and see us.”

It had been two whole years, and Kassandra felt as though she was soon to burst into a shower of flames. Aspasia’s hold on her was strong, and she willed herself to focus on it, to focus on the _ present_, instead of whatever else her damned mind was whispering to her in that moment. 

Aspasia’s expression shifted as she read Kassandra’s face, and for a moment lowered her voice as she pulled her even closer. “We can speak of other things later, but I need you to go and see him first.”

“I… right. Is he—I saw the city on my way in, and—” Kassandra shook her head and chased stray thoughts away. “The people are so sick here, Aspasia.”

“I know, I know,” she touched the side of Kassandra’s face, “and so is he, Kassandra. Please, go to him and tell him to take the medicine.” Aspasia’s gaze flickered away for a moment. “He refuses to see me.”

A twinge of pain and discomfort rose in Kassandra’s chest, and she gently pulled away from Aspasia. “Wait here,” she said, and headed for the stairs.

*

She was suddenly all too aware of the fact that she had not seen Perikles in a long time. 

“Kassandra.” He was struggling to get to his feet when the Eagle Bearer emerged by the doorway. “So it is you.”

In an instant, she was by his side, and held him firmly under his arm to lift him with ease. He weighed almost nothing, she realised with muted horror. Perikles swayed with imbalance as he rose, and leaned his frail form against the Eagle Bearer. Kassandra provided the support he needed and helped him to the door when he beckoned for it.

“Thank you,” he said quietly as they emerged into the open. The rain was still light, though the skies—and all of Athens itself—had darkened considerably.

There were new lines on his face now, Kassandra noted. His robes hung loosely from his sides, and the line of his posture was sagging a little, even as he steadied himself with both hands against the balcony. It had been much too long, with so much left unsaid, and Kassandra found herself unable to meet his eyes when he turned to her at last.

“Why have you come?” It was a question that came without the fire of anger as she had expected.

“Aspasia said you wouldn’t take your medicine.” Kassandra lifted a hand to the back of her head, and glanced at him at last. “You... probably should do that, you know.”

Perikles’ gaze held something in them that Kassandra could not name, though it looked far from displeasure or disdain. He nodded at her words and seemed to meditate on them for a moment as he looked out across Athens. Not so long ago, they had stood side by side here but under less tense, dreary circumstances.

“I have failed my people,” Perikles said, voice soft against the rain. “Sparta closes in, and the plague has come to Athens.”

“You haven’t—failed,” Kassandra tried, watching the way he lowered his head and closed his eyes. “Perikles, there is still work to be done. The people are out there, and they need you.”

His words were undergirded by obvious pain. “But who am I, Kassandra? Apart from a sick old man, with no strength or fire to carry his _ polis _through?” 

“You are a king. Their _ chosen _king.” Kassandra leaned over a little, to catch his gaze when he opened his eyes again. “You are here because the people wanted you to be. That counts for something.”

Perikles met her eyes again, and she saw that they had welled up with tears. “Is that the truth?”

Kassandra drew back, awkward, though her voice was sincere. “Just what I know.”

The king coughed heavily into his fist, and wheezed as he took a breath. Kassandra readied herself in case she needed to catch him, but Perikles only raised a hand weakly to reassure her of her worries.

“The Cult on one side,” he said in a thin voice, “and Sparta on another.” He let out a ragged sigh. Eons seemed to pass between the mercenary and the king before he finally spoke again. 

“If I take my medicine, will you make me a promise?”

“Anything.”

“Remain steadfast by her side.” Perikles turned to Kassandra. In the rain, it was hard to tell if the man was crying, or if it was the rain masking his face with something that wasn’t there. Kassandra drew back with one unsteady step, breath caught halfway in her throat.

“Perikles, I shouldn’t have—”

“No, Kassandra,” Perikles raised his hand to stop her, “Don’t offer an apology. It is not what I seek from you.” He lowered his gaze, pensive. “Love is a singular comfort, in times as troubled as these. For Aspasia, I would have moved the mountains. That you care for her, too, then brings me great comfort. I can trust you. I always have.”

Kassandra swallowed the lump in her throat. “What are you… what are you saying?”

Perikles took a deep breath, as though it was taking all the strength in his body to carry out this simple gesture, and looked up. “That it takes more than mere courage to be with a woman like her.” His blue eyes shone, even in the muted light. “You _ must _ see it through, Kassandra. When I am no longer here, I—”

A cough stole the rest of his sentence from him, and his entire form rattled with it.

“Perikles.” Kassandra’s voice flattened into a tight hiss. “Don’t—talk like this.”

“I am sorry. Truly.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. If anyone should be, it is me.” She touched a hand to her chest, and met his gaze without wavering. “Please, just—say you accept it.”

Perikles watched her curiously, with a distant look on his face, and said nothing for a long time. Finally, as another cough wracked his body, he came to clap a hand gently over her shoulder.

“There is nothing to forgive.”

*

Aspasia waited for her at the bottom of the stairs. The crowd had dispersed by the time Kassandra reappeared, with only Sokrates, Hippokrates, and Alkibiades conversing quietly in a corner. They didn’t seem to notice her or Aspasia—or at least did not make it known with a casual glance in their direction—and so Kassandra allowed herself to be pulled aside into the nearest, unoccupied room.

“What did he say?” Aspasia asked, pressing both hands against Kassandra’s chest. She looked up at the Eagle Bearer with genuine concern.

Kassandra clutched gently at her arms. “He’s fine. He’s taken his medicine.”

Aspasia’s eyes widened, as though expecting another answer altogether, and finally nodded, more to herself than to Kassandra. “Good,” she muttered. “That’s good.”

“I—apologised,” Kassandra added, a little softer. When Aspasia snapped her gaze back to her, she continued, “I couldn’t not say anything.”

Hands—so familiar—came to the sides of her face. Aspasia held her there, an agitated light in her eyes, and looked to be reading something in every line of Kassandra’s face. Though what it was she searched for, the Eagle Bearer couldn’t hope to discover. “You did?”

“Yes.”

Aspasia laughed, an incredulous little sound, like she couldn’t quite believe it. “You fool.”

The air between them grew charged with something Kassandra had never forgotten in her two years at sea, and the frustration in the socialite’s expression began to melt away the longer she remained in the Eagle Bearer’s grasp.

“I’ve missed you,” Kassandra let the words spill out at last, in the quiet boundaries of their private space.

“I couldn’t tell.”

Aspasia’s lips curled into a smile, warm. It was a smile that could have ended kings and mighty warriors, and Kassandra couldn’t keep herself still any longer. A hand came to the back of Aspasia’s head as she leaned in to kiss her, hot and desperate, and the world fell away in the blink of an eye. Aspasia shoved her against the wall, hunger apparent with every gesture, every searing kiss, and a ripple of pleasure took hold of Kassandra. A strangled groan clawed its way out of the Eagle Bearer’s throat, and she felt Aspasia moan softly against her mouth. 

“Fuck,” Kassandra growled, dropping her hand to grip Aspasia by the waist. “_Fuck_. Aspasia—”

But the socialite was having none of it and silenced her with another kiss. This time she clamped down on Kassandra’s lower lip, and let her hands slide up into her hair. “You don’t get to talk,” she said against the Eagle Bearer’s parting lips, “Not right now.”

Kassandra purred against her mouth and obeyed. They lost themselves in the next few minutes—though it felt like ten years—and were soon to catch fire in their relentlessness. That is, until very suddenly, Kassandra stiffened. It felt as though the mercenary had gone cold in a single jerking moment. Aspasia drew back, head swimming from the whiplash, and caught the look that had eclipsed Kassandra’s expression. 

“What is it?”

Kassandra’s gaze flickered to somewhere behind Aspasia, a strange fog settling over her face. The world, it seemed, had come to a stop.

“Phoibe. She’s late.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to take Aspasia's line from her final confrontation with Kassandra and use it somewhere else. My brain wouldn't let me go until I did it so here TAKE MY TRASHJ


	14. Come Away, Little Lamb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You must see it through, Kassandra.

Athens was a beautiful disaster. 

The masses congregating near the agora surged like the Aegean itself, thrown into disarray as panic mounted the longer Perikles did not show himself. Nicodemus watched from his vantage point with great interest, perched atop a roof, and swept a satisfactory look across the grounds. 

Men and women were jostling and clawing at each other to squeeze to the front, where they were surely waiting for someone—anyone, at this point—to emerge and allay their fears about the plague, send out some gods-sent medicine, and tell them that _ no, Sparta will not take us this day. _

There was no king here—only a false one, only a wretched demon, rising up to take the reins. 

Kleon looked every bit as smug as Nicodemus expected, nose raised to the sky for all the gods to see as he stepped onto a makeshift podium. Even in the rain, even in the midst of a crumbling city, Kleon looked to be about the most triumphant man in Athens, and he lifted his arms in a grandiose gesture before beginning to address the people.

That was when Nicodemus caught sight of the Eagle Bearer, red cloth flapping wildly as she tore through the streets. A curl of hungry vengeance came alive within him at that moment, and he watched the _ misthios _crash into a hapless child, far too preoccupied with panic to notice her surroundings. 

He tilted his head, curious, as he watched the two embrace briefly. Wasn’t that the Ghost’s newly favoured helper? 

Kleon had started addressing the crowd, shredding Perikles’ poor name into dust, and the girl disappeared from the Eagle Bearer’s side. He pulled his lips into a little smirk, watching the way Kassandra tried to call out to the child to stop her.

When she turned back onto the path and went on her way, Nicodemus leaped off the roof and landed deftly in the mud. He looked in the direction that the little pup had taken, and started to run.

*

Phoibe was damned good at her job. 

Aspasia had probably realised this early on, recognising the merits of sending a girl of her stature out into the streets for tasks of all manners: fetching something from the market, delivering missives, carry important messages to equally important people, and generally being an extension of Aspasia herself. Phoibe went where Aspasia could not, and carried her will in the palm of her hand. The stateswoman would be hard pressed to find another like Phoibe for ages.

Which was why she had been tasked, on this rainy Athenian morning, to do something important for Aspasia again. _ We need you to fetch these herbs for Hippokrates, _Aspasia had said, dropping into a low crouch to meet her, eye to eye. It was why Phoibe liked the woman so much—she never talked down to Phoibe, but always met her on equal ground. In Athens, everybody needed Phoibe.

And now, the king did as well. It was the kind of thing she’d tell her old gang of misfits later, when everything settled down. Then she’d watch them bristle and jump up and down in disbelief. They never believed her stories. 

She darted in and out of the crowd with ease as she worked up how she would tell _ this _tale. The king of Athens himself!

Her earlier encounter with Kassandra—after two whole years!—had lifted her spirits, too. Phoibe ran as quick as she could, her little heart beating in her chest but not nearly quick enough to leave her winded yet. There was so much she had been saving to tell Kassandra when she came back. And Aspasia had said she’d come back, didn’t she? She hadn’t lied, after all.

The Odeon of Perikles loomed ahead, tall and fearsome in the rain, and stood as some sort of significant display of Greece’s triumph over Persia. The history was lost on Phoibe, but she vaguely remembered Aspasia telling her something about a defeated Persian king one night when she had asked the socialite to teach her something interesting that she knew nothing about. 

And that had been a tall order, seeing as how Phoibe knew very little outside her colourful life on Kephallonia. Oh, now she was missing Markos and his stupid, dumb smile. Focus!

Phoibe was just about to head off the path to a smaller one, where she had been told she would find a merchant who knew Hippokrates, when someone stepped heavily out into the street, wearing a fearsome helm with a twisted, awful face. She stopped dead in her tracks, mud splashing up and around her ankles.

The ominous looking man took slow steps toward her, dressed in silver and purple, and hovered a hand close to the hilt of his sword.

Phoibe was damned good at her job, and knew danger when it looked her right in the eyes. She turned to run, eyes fixed ahead on the large, roofed theatre that awaited her. It was a big place. She would surely lose this strange man in there, and then sneak back out to resume her journey.

A hundred or so meters up the sloping path to the odeon, Phoibe made the mistake of looking over her shoulder. Ugly Mask had brought his friends along for the ride, too, and they were undaunted in the rain. She swore under her breath, something she knew Kassandra would scold her about like the hypocrite she sometimes was, and quickly darted into the theatre.

It was dark inside, and the theatre was bare. Phoibe imagined the kind of musical performances Perikles must have enjoyed here, with Aspasia smiling sweetly on his arm. But the sharp sound of boots scuffing over stone behind her interrupted her reverie, and she quickly darted behind a pillar. 

She could hear Ugly Mask’s gruff voice echoing off the walls as he told his pals to split up and comb the hall. Breathing slow, Phoibe peered around it to track their positions, and darted from cover to cover—and circling, in a slow arc, back to the entrance where she had come from.

Phoibe was damned good at what she did, and nothing rarely escaped her notice. She liked to think it was Kassandra’s _ misthios _sensibilities rubbing off on her, but all that came to an end when she felt a shadow close in on her from behind. How did this one move without making a sound at all?

How hadn’t she seen him on the way in, lurking in a dusty corner like a predator poised to strike?

Her assailant clapped a hand over her mouth powerfully, and hushed her. She felt the light scruff of a beard graze along the side of her face, and tears welled in her eyes. And at last, when Ugly Mask had taken his friends and left, Phoibe was finally allowed to scream.

*

Kassandra’s heart nearly leapt out of her chest when she heard it, a shrill sound that vibrated through the air and sank into her like an icy blade.

“Phoibe!”

Athens faded from around her, and Kassandra let herself be carried forward with a singular purpose. The odeon, once a shining monument to the birthplace of democracy, a place where only beautiful things displayed themselves for the pleasure of a king, inspired in Kassandra a cold sense of dread. There was a pounding in her chest that would not let up, and she drew her dagger as she chased down the last dregs of Phoibe’s cry. 

Above, Ikaros circled the theatre, crying out in what sounded like anger.

The first thing she noticed was Phoibe, a hand outstretched toward her. Her heart clenched painfully, and Phoibe’s name lodged itself in the middle of her throat. When the girl’s captor let out a smooth laugh, that was when Kassandra noticed the second thing.

His blue eyes glowed like hot coals. There was a hand neatly wrapped around the tiny circumference of Phoibe’s neck, and another waving a dagger languidly in the air as his mouth curled into a wicked smile. The years came rushing back with the sound of thunder rumbling above them, and Kassandra thought wildly of the open air theatre of so long ago, the insults she had borne that day, and the way Perikles’ face had crumbled, like ash—

“Nicodemus.”

“Kassandra. How apt that we should meet again in a theatre, of all places.” 

She hissed and started forward with one jerking step when Nicodemus pressed his cheek to Phoibe’s. The girl was crying silently, eyes wide with desperation and fear. Kassandra held out a hand, desperate herself. “Don’t!”

“Don’t!” Nicodemus parroted, and threw his head back in laughter. Phoibe swayed with him in his iron grip. “Oh, Kassandra. If you could see the _ look _on your face.”

“Nicodemus—stop,” Kassandra’s voice cracked under pressure, “Please.”

“I never took you for a beggar.” Nicodemus regarded her with a frown. “It’s not your best look.”

“Stop this. Your fight is with me.” Kassandra dared to meet Phoibe’s gaze again. “Let her go, and you can have me.”

Nicodemus squeezed Phoibe’s neck hard enough for the girl to cry out. “I don’t want you, Kassandra. You bring me nothing but pain.” He released Phoibe’s neck and slid his hand to her chin, forcing her to look at him in a single twist. “No, I much prefer your adorable friend, here. Where are you from, sweetling?”

Phoibe choked on a broken sob. “K-Kephallonia.”

“Kephallonia,” Nicodemus said, with a faint drawl. “Sounds like a lovely place. I’ve never been. Did you grow up with the Eagle Bearer? What mighty friends you have. Would Aspasia miss you dearly, I wonder?”

“Nicodemus!” 

“Enough!” Nicodemus snapped his gaze back at Kassandra. “This is a gift, Kassandra. A glimpse into my soul, the day you speared Rastus through the heart. Watch closely,” he raised his dagger, “and understand.”

Lightning flashed, and Kassandra lunged forward. She crossed a vast chasm and the entire span of the world to reach her, holding her frightened gaze without once letting go. She had done this many times—swoop in, save the innocent, and emerge with pockets full of drachmae. 

Yet this time, it was different. Everything felt wrong.

It was the one thing Kassandra would fail at. The dread she felt peaked into awful crescendo, as though deep in her soul, she had always known of this inevitable failure.

And how couldn’t she have known? Nicodemus meant for her to witness it.

His blade tore through a young body, merciless in its deadly arc, and blood spread across Phoibe’s mud-stained tunic. Her small hand barely grazed the inside of Kassandra’s palm before she fell away, lost forever.

The world ended with the sound of a gasp, followed by one last, shuddering attempt at another breath. It did not cut through the pain nor did it stay Death's hand. Instead, it cut right into Kassandra’s chest.

The Eagle Bearer skidded onto her knees, watching her friend flop onto the ground with a sickening thud. The sound seemed to echo deep within her.

Nicodemus pulled his dagger free, and Phoibe’s body jerked once. 

“You see,” he breathed, “Now _ she _brings you pain.”

His words made no sense. But then he brought the bloodied weapon to his mouth, and dragged his tongue along the flat of the blade, still dripping with blood, and Kassandra forgot his cryptic message in a flash.

The sight was enough to propel the Eagle Bearer back on her feet. Nicodemus watched with wide eyes and an even wider smile as Kassandra seized him in one savage motion, and ran her dagger into his throat. The world spun, endless and dark. She heard the sound of tearing flesh as she flicked her wrist, twisting her dagger. Nicodemus’ weapon clattered against the stone and rang out. 

There were a lot of sounds that day.

Nicodemus gurgled harshly, and then he was gone. Just like that, he had disappeared too—down into the depths of Tartarus.

Kassandra flung his body aside, allowing a sob to wrack her whole body, and collapsed beside Phoibe’s unmoving form. Bloodied hands reached out and drew Phoibe close to her heaving chest. Kassandra laid a quivering hand over Phoibe’s wound. Her blood was still warm, as though it still coursed through her veins, as though she was still full of life and hugging her close in the rain, as though nothing had yet changed.

And yet.

“_Ela_,” Kassandra murmured through her tears, the last of her strength leaving her voice. Her bottom lip trembled violently as she pressed a kiss to Phoibe’s forehead. The gesture hurt her more than she expected it to.

She stumbled through her last rites in between gasps for air, and watched Phoibe’s face fade as her vision fogged up. _ Gods… I have failed you. I’ve failed you. _

She did not know how long she knelt there. She only rose to her feet unsteadily after Sokrates and Hippokrates materialised on either side of her, as though sent by the gods themselves, and began to offer Phoibe gentle, parting words. She listened to the sounds of their voices, soft against the rain.

*

“She’s dead.”

The words fell from her lips easier than she had expected. But what she hadn’t expected was the chill in her voice, the clipped sound to it that easily made her grief and anger known. The courtyard had grown silent. The rain had finally stopped. Kassandra breathed deep and slow, but found herself still standing off-center in a world she no longer recognised.

When Aspasia moved in, reaching out, Kassandra drew back with cold fury in every line of her body. She slapped the woman’s hand away, pretending not to notice the gleaming tears in her eyes—those damned eyes that Kassandra loved so much—and stormed off. When she left Aspasia’s side, it was as though she had taken all the light in the world with her.

Sokrates touched a hand to Kassandra’s shoulder, and felt no resistance there. The Eagle Bearer met his gaze with empty eyes, and he tightened his grip, just so.

“We will find time to grieve,” Sokrates murmured, gentle as he had been when he prayed for Phoibe’s safe journey into the beyond. “But that time is not now. We need…”

Kassandra looked past the sophist and settled a cold look over Aspasia who had not moved an inch, rooted to the spot where Kassandra had pushed her away. She knew that pleading look, despite herself, and the message in it was clear.

_ Please. Help. _

And she heard Sokrates’ voice again, as though coming to her from across a great distance. He hadn’t stopped speaking.

“...Perikles is gone.”

The words reached her at last. Kassandra stirred back to life, righteous anger pooling in her fists. She tore her gaze from Aspasia and looked to Sokrates once more.

“Where is he,” she asked darkly.

It took less than ten seconds. In less than ten seconds, her world had shifted once again. Kassandra fled into the streets, a wild and furious hurricane.

*

Deimos seemed to be wearing Nicodemus’ smile. Kassandra took slow strides towards the dais where her brother stood, holding Perikles by the loose collar of his robe. She heard footsteps distantly behind her but didn’t bother looking back, fixated instead on her _ brother_, the look on his face, and the blade in his hand.

It was all too fast, too familiar, and Kassandra felt sick in her stomach when she called out to him. “Alexios. Don’t—”

But he wasn’t Nicodemus, after all. He had no theatrics up his sleeve, no flair for vengeful parting words. This was Deimos. This was her brother, unrecognisable and manic, dragging a blade cleanly across Perikles’ neck. Red bloomed in the wake of its deadly trail, and Aspasia fell to her knees beside Kassandra.

"My name," he growled, "is _Deimos_."

Perikles’ eyes widened, and they looked straight ahead at Kassandra. Even in the throes of death, the man looked like he still had something wise to say. As he fell back against Deimos’ sturdy frame, Perikles reached out a hand to Kassandra. It was a futile gesture, but Kassandra stumbled back anyway, as though she had somehow been hit by the force of it.

She saw Phoibe, helpless and afraid, in that moment. And then the vision of her dead friend melted away, and there Perikles was again. Pleading. Why did everyone come to her for help? Why did they ask of her these impossible things?

His voice was kind, the way she always remembered it. And his instruction was clear. 

_You _ must _ see it through, Kassandra._

She moved without thinking, as though something had possessed her, and advanced up the steps to the dais where Deimos stood smiling. And then he was gone in an instant, shoving the dead king down at the Eagle Bearer, disappearing behind a wall of cultist soldiers that had slid out of the shadows.

A spectacle, Kassandra thought numbly as she stared into their snarling faces. Some of them laughed, and called her _little eagle._ It was all just a _fucking _spectacle.

She moved like she had never done before, a force of nature that cut through the ranks of Kosmos in clean sweeps and devastating swings. The faces of Kosmos fell all around her like the puppets they had always been, and she felt not even an ounce of remorse as she worked to prolong every man’s suffering. 

She twisted her blade at every turn, unnecessarily cruel, and cut open all of their throats in an awful display of blood and gore. Every time she brought her weapon down on a hapless cultist, she imagined Phoibe’s face in her mind. 

The vision kept her on her legs, and years of training held her back from burning out. Vengeance lined her posture from head to toe, and she looked to be more of a beast than a woman. She certainly no longer felt human.

When the last cultist soldier fell to the ground, clutching uselessly at his bleeding throat, a deep cry emerged from the depths, and she realised it was her own voice. The anguished sound echoed off the stone, terrifying and monstrous. 

Deimos was gone. 

Defeated and spent, Kassandra stumbled into Aspasia’s embrace - how had she known it was her? - with one unsteady step, and felt a hand gently pull the dagger loose from her grip. Kassandra unfurled her fist and let it leave her, and closed her eyes against all that she knew.

And then Aspasia was whispering her name against her ear, over and over, and calling her back to life. It was a reverent, fearful sound, and Kassandra’s mind conjured up images of praying priestesses, prostrate before their gods. Then the vision turned into Myrrine, looking down at Kassandra with a warm smile as she rocked her daughter gently to sleep. A vision from a hundred lifetimes ago. She was beginning to ache again—and this time, for her mother.

Her emotions coalesced into a swirling tempest and came to a head as she collapsed against the one holding her. At last, she began to weep. 

Athena, towering above them, watched over the unfolding scene with empty eyes. Her shadow flickered and swayed in the firelight, dancing over all those who had fallen to the Eagle Bearer.

*

By the time Barnabas had lowered the sails and the _ Adrestia _was finally pulling away from the desolate docks of Piraeus, Kassandra had become lost to Aspasia once more. The Eagle Bearer withdrew, wordless, to an empty corner on deck before turning her gaze out to sea, an unknowable expression settling over her features. 

The wind howled a solemn song to send them on their way. 

_ Naxos_, Barnabas murmured quietly to those who asked. No one had dared to approach their commander, and deferred to her lieutenant instead. He eyed her with all the sympathy in the world, and took up the reins without complaint. _ It’s time we moved on. _

In the distance, far above them, the storm clouds were receding and made way for dusk. The sun bent low to kiss the ocean in its fullness. 

Kassandra stood where she had chosen to be, eyes stubbornly fixed on the horizon. From where Aspasia watched her, the auburn sky framed the Eagle Bearer in a perfect vision of something terrifying, something wounded.

_ Something beautiful_, Aspasia thought, suddenly breathless. 

Then the sun, possessed by an irrational love for the ocean, plunged into the depths and sacrificed itself once more to allow night to thrive. For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of wood creaking powerfully, the strong flap of the sails, and Aspasia's own heartbeat, loud in her ears. Out here, thrust into the cold embrace of the Aegean, one could believe that Athens had not fallen, and nothing had changed at all.

And then the Eagle Bearer turned her head to look at her, at long last, with those wounded, beautiful eyes. Aspasia crossed the deck as though strung along by something invisible, and realised she no longer possessed enough power to stay away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah fuck
> 
> we've crossed into deeper hell, but we're all in this together I guess. I can't believe we've also gone beyond 600 hits on this little thing. here is all my love. in the form of pain. I know. it hurts me too.


	15. The Bitter Pains I've Borne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And love is all we need?” 
> 
> “Sometimes it is all we have.”

Kassandra’s bracers had darkened under the layer of dried blood that clung to them. 

_ Phoibe’s? Perikles’? _

Something icy licked at her heart as Aspasia touched a hand over the Eagle Bearer’s, feeling the tension there. Kassandra was holding a death grip on the wooden rail, and Aspasia saw her eyes widen ever so slightly at the gentle contact of their hands. The stateswoman tipped her head forward, letting her chin rest just above Kassandra’s shoulder perfectly, and called out to the grieving mercenary with a soft voice. 

“Kassandra.”

As though she had been waiting all this time to respond, Kassandra closed her eyes shut. Her brows met in muted anger, and she worked the muscles in her jaw for a long time before finally acknowledging Aspasia with a heated look. Her golden eyes burned as though the fire of Prometheus lived within them. Yet the sight had not done what it set out to do, and that was to chase the former _ hetaera _ away.

Aspasia dared to lean closer, pressing gently against Kassandra’s side, and let her eyes flutter to a close. A thumb idly brushed over one hard knuckle, then two, then she was snaking her fingers between Kassandra’s, and prying the mercenary’s hand off the railing to hold it. 

Kassandra relented at last, and allowed their fingers to intertwine. Aspasia heard a soft sigh, the sound of acquiescence, and dared to look upon the Eagle Bearer’s face. It was not nearly dark enough that she couldn’t see; moonlight spilled over them both in a shower of light, and accented Kassandra’s features. 

She could have been cut straight from marble, the stateswoman thought distractedly. And then Kassandra was turning away again, casting her gaze elsewhere.

“One time,” the Eagle Bearer began in a waning voice, “I had to fetch something for Markos. It was a ‘family heirloom,’ he said, and some bastard had taken it from him because he owed some people drachmae. I went to barter for it, because there was nothing else to be done on that _ stupid _ island. But he wouldn’t return it. Drachmae or nothing.” She drew a breath, shaky. “And then Phoibe fished it from him when he wasn’t looking, right under his nose.”

Aspasia found herself smiling. Kassandra chose this moment to look back at Aspasia, and her lips parted wordlessly for a moment. The dark anger in her features gave way to something less harsh.

She continued, “But we had the worst luck in the world, sometimes. His brother had just come up the path and saw what Phoibe had done, and they drew their weapons on us.” Kassandra huffed, shaking her head. “Phoibe was laughing and screaming like it was just playtime. That stupid girl.”

“That stupid girl was also very brave.” Aspasia blinked away the tears that had come, surprising herself. “Until the very end.”

“_Malake_, she’d be so happy to hear you say that.” The Eagle Bearer’s mouth curled into a small smile. “You know what, though?”

“Hmm?” Aspasia prompted, squeezing gently at her hand.

“That wasn’t even actually Markos’ fucking heirloom.”

“No,” Aspasia whispered, scandalised. “And then what happened?”

Kassandra chuckled. It was a sound Aspasia hadn’t even realised she missed. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard it. Two years ago, in all likelihood.

“Then Phoibe and I beat Markos up.” Kassandra’s eyes twinkled, with something close to pride in them.

“An exercise in stupidity.” Aspasia purred as Kassandra’s hand slipped out of hers so the mercenary could extend an arm around her. She leaned into the warmth, pleased. “But a beautiful memory.”

“Mmm.” Kassandra held her tight, as though it was all she could do. “Tell me one of yours. About Phoibe.”

Aspasia felt her heart clench, and for a moment she said nothing. A hand settled over Kassandra’s chest, fingering lightly at the Spartan cloth there. Kassandra allowed herself to be mesmerised by the contemplative look on the stateswoman’s features as she spoke.

“The one thing I loved about her,” Aspasia murmured, gentle against the waves, “was that she never quite stopped talking about you.”

Kassandra stilled, and Aspasia reached up to touch her cheek in a comforting gesture. “Even before you came to Attika and walked into that symposium that night,” she went on, “I knew more about you than I wanted to.”

The Eagle Bearer laughed, a broken sound, and shook her head. “That’s embarrassing.”

“That’s love.” Aspasia stroked her face, adoring. “Isn’t it?”

“And love is all we need?” 

“Sometimes it is all we have.”

Kassandra’s eyes gleamed with tears. She began blinking them away furiously, face turning crimson under the weight of Aspasia's gaze. “I never took you to be the sentimental type.”

Aspasia stretched herself on her toes and kissed her softly, at the corner of her mouth. She laid another kiss there when a tear streaked by, and Kassandra responded with a tilt of her head, so their lips would meet at last. And soon Aspasia was shifting fully into her embrace, holding Kassandra’s face in her hands, allowing herself to be swept away by the currents.

“I think this is all your influence, Eagle Bearer. I should set us some boundaries,” she teased, “so I’m not a lovesick fool by the end of this voyage.”

“Lovesick,” Kassandra was leaning in again, eyelashes fluttering beautifully, “I don’t know. It could be a good look on you.”

She tasted the sea on Kassandra’s mouth. It was everything to her, to be lost at sea like this. Her grip on the Eagle Bearer never once faltered, not even when a particularly troublesome wave caused the entire ship to rock. She only held on tighter and threw all semblance of self-control overboard, sighing contentedly against Kassandra.

“You think I look good anyway,” she finally said, a girlish innocence to her voice.

Kassandra winked. “You’d look better with nothing on.”

“You’ve turned into quite the sailor,” she teased darkly.

“Hmm,” the Eagle Bearer inclined her head, wicked grin taking shape, “Women can't seem to resist it.”

Aspasia tugged her warningly by the red fabric around her neck. “So, there _ were _others that the Eagle Bearer favoured while away at sea.”

“You sound upset. _Are _you upset?”

“Far from it. Don't overthink.”

Kassandra held back a laugh, and leaned in to press warm kisses along Aspasia’s jaw. Apology in its rawest form, perhaps. Aspasia let herself consider it for a moment, enjoying the little shivers that came with every kiss. 

After a moment, the Eagle Bearer drew back, and Aspasia saw that all mischief had fled from her expression. “I was kidding, by the way,” she tried to restart the conversation, “There wasn't anyone—”

The stateswoman rolled her eyes, and yanked Kassandra forward again to stop her in her tracks. “I’m not a fool, Kassandra. You're terribly easy to read.”

A hand was sliding up her thigh. It settled over a very warm spot between her legs. “I could say the same for you.”

Aspasia let out a soft groan. “Are you always this talkative with women you're trying to sleep with?”

Kassandra’s hand worked gloriously, undeterred by Aspasia’s jab. “Only if they're beautiful.”

“Such flattery,” Aspasia drawled, and clung to the Eagle Bearer as a wave of pleasure rocked through her.

Kassandra fluttered her lashes, watching the way Aspasia was caving, sweet and slow. “You’re enjoying it, aren't you?”

“I’d enjoy some silence right about now.”

“Are you telling me to shut up?” The Eagle Bearer had the audacity to look offended.

“I’m telling you that if you stop what you’re doing right now,” Aspasia purred, unbothered, “I’m going to be very angry.”

Kassandra laughed again. “Wait, we’re—”

“Above deck.” Aspasia’s hands were working at her armor straps. “Barnabas has politely removed himself not too long ago if your concern is modesty, though judging by what your fingers are up to, I think your hesitation is quite uncalled for.”

“Ugh.” The Eagle Bearer rubbed her a little more insistently now, as though seeking to put her in her place. The chill in the sea breeze didn't quite help; Aspasia shuddered, and leaned against the wooden rail so she wouldn't fall over. “If that’s your way of saying you want me…”

Aspasia bit her lower lip, feeling the warm movement of Kassandra’s hand against her thigh. “Please, shut up.”

“_Fine_.”

And in one swift motion, Kassandra scooped her up like she weighed nothing at all, and marched away from the ship’s stern, headed straight for the steps that led up to the quarter deck. Aspasia took the opportunity to clamp down, without preamble, on Kassandra’s neck, digging her teeth in so hard that she was sure she’d draw blood very soon.

Kassandra hissed sharply as she set her down on the bench. She touched a hand to where Aspasia had so impetuously bitten her and smirked, roguish and charming, even though it stung.

The mercenary’s eyes were dark as she lowered herself on her knees, hands roving along the inside of Aspasia’s thighs to part her legs. Her robe rode up with the movement.

Within a matter of seconds, Aspasia was bare—at least, bare where it mattered—and her legs spread wide open in a gesture of greeting and invitation. Her hands were tightly gripping fistfuls of fabric as she watched Kassandra position herself between her legs, kissing her tenderly and taking her time as though the both of them hadn’t just waited two long years for this moment.

She moaned, unable to contain herself, as Kassandra’s tongue worked its old magic, slipping over her throbbing slit, again and again until Aspasia could barely remember where in Hades she was. That gods-damned tongue moved in such strong, slow strokes. Aspasia shifted herself so Kassandra could touch her with her fingers, too, all the while breathing deep and hard and trying her hardest not to cry out where she knew people could hear.

And it _ was _ agonising, trying to be quiet. The irony was not lost on the socialite, even in the midst of dizzying passion.

She touched a hand to Kassandra’s hair, stroking there to encourage the Eagle Bearer, but the mercenary needed neither added encouragement nor motivation to do her job. Kassandra sucked gently at the wet little bud, striking right at the heart of Aspasia’s mounting lust, and, without waiting or asking this time, smoothly inserted two fingers inside her.

It took less than two seconds to feel a third joining the fray. 

“Kassandra,” Aspasia heard herself whine, and wondered who she had become, “Please.”

“Please…?” Kassandra was just watching her now, her fingers sliding in and out of her slick hole at a torturous pace. The Eagle Bearer’s voice was hushed, as though afraid of disrupting what was happening, “I really don’t think I heard you.”

“_Kassandra_.”

“Aspasia.” She was barely making any headway now, movement slowing soon to a complete halt. There was that fucking grin again, waiting between her thighs. 

Aspasia bucked her hips forcefully, teeth gritting, and attempted to get the Eagle Bearer back to work. 

“Gods,” Kassandra whispered, mesmerised by the way Aspasia looked so desperate, so wanton in that moment. “You look like you need something.” Her fingers slid deeper in, ever so slightly. Aspasia threw her head back, hissing swear words into the cool night air that Kassandra hadn't expected her to be capable of. 

“I—need you. And if you _ don't _start moving again,” Aspasia’s voice edged into a snarl, “I’ll kill you myself.”

The Eagle Bearer shuddered with a breathy laugh. And then she finally submitted to the agitated instruction, pressing another long kiss to Aspasia’s core. She began to thrust her fingers again, the wet sound of it no match for the increasingly loud noises coming out of Aspasia's mouth. 

There was no use in caring for modesty now. The deck was vacant save for the both of them, and Kassandra was doing a very good job at making her writhe and moan, the last of her self-restraint fleeing into the night. She rocked her hips, possessed, and arched her back as Kassandra’s fingers beckoned her to sweet release. The Eagle Bearer’s fingers were slick with her desire by the end of it, and made the fucking all the better for it. 

Kassandra leaned over, catching her lips in a rough kiss as she continued her ministrations. Aspasia seized the chance to bite down on her lower lip, hungry and lost to desire, and hoped it would leave an angry mark in its wake. A fog descended on her mind. Out here, there was no Athens, no plague, no gods-damned Cult of Kosmos. There was only Kassandra, only her cursed fingers, only the burning kisses and the sweet taste of her tongue inside her mouth. "Fuck," Aspasia let out a gasp, and let herself be consumed by the waves. "_Kassandra_—"

Aspasia came with a shuddering cry, eyes shut tight against the moonlight. Kassandra felt Aspasia's mouth part against her lips, feeling the hot breath there, and groaned softly. She kissed her again before drawing back, a mystified look on her face as she admired Aspasia in the afterglow.

Aspasia heard Kassandra murmur distantly. Reverent. “You're so beautiful.”

The socialite steadied herself, head still swimming, and cracked one eye open down at Kassandra, caught somewhere between adoration and irritation, if such a thing were possible.

“Come,” she beckoned, all businesslike in her voice even though her eyes spoke another message. “Since you like making so much noise, I shall help you on your way.”

Kassandra didn’t protest. Not even once.

*

After, Kassandra laid her head back with one arm draped around Aspasia. There was a faint smile ghosting across her lips as she turned her gaze skyward. The moon was slow in its pursuit of the _ Adrestia_, and the skies had finally cleared up. Countless stars were flickering across the thick blanket of the night, their light dancing across the waves.

Aspasia, nestled against her, brought along a comforting weight and warmth, and that same warmth seemed to be spreading to Kassandra, a slow, blooming feeling across her chest.

She closed her eyes, heart caught somewhere between contentment and melancholy.

Aspasia interpreted her expression correctly. “I’m sorry about what happened to Phoibe, Eagle Bearer. Truly.” Her voice shook, and she said no more.

“I’m sorry about Perikles.” Kassandra’s expression softened. “I wish none of it happened.”

“And so do I. Against our wishes, here we both are.”

Kassandra shut her eyes, and rested her head against Aspasia’s. There was the slightest shift beside her, and she felt the woman nuzzle softly against her neck. It was hard to balance both ends of herself and reconcile that she was both happy and devastated to be alive. 

She curled her arm tighter around Aspasia’s waist as if to anchor herself. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You do what you always do, Kassandra. Carry on. Finish what you started.”

“It never feels enough.” Kassandra peered into the darkness within her mind, and saw Nicodemus’ face. “The Cult is like the Hydra. Cut off one head, and two more will grow.”

“It cannot—will not—keep up forever,” Aspasia slid a hand down the length of her arm, rubbing in slow, soothing motions. “They’re only men.”

Kassandra made a little noise. “They know too much.” She licked her lips, contemplative. “Nicodemus knew Phoibe was under your care. He mentioned you.”

Aspasia stilled. “Did he,” she asked in a low voice.

“He knew it would hurt you.” Kassandra’s voice hardened slightly. “And he knew it would hurt me. _ Malake_, I—”

“You did everything you could.” Aspasia took her gently by the chin and guided the mercenary’s gaze back to her. “You did everything right, Kassandra. Sometimes—” She drew a quick breath. “Sometimes we just lose, despite that.”

Kassandra tried to steady herself with those words. Somewhere, deep inside her chest, Phoibe’s scream still echoed. 

“Did you know him at all?” Kassandra murmured, curling a hand around Aspasia’s and gently lowering it away. At Aspasia’s silence, she added, “I’m just trying to figure things out.”

“I knew enough about him.” Aspasia’s brow furrowed, a shadow eclipsing her features. “His younger sister, Danae, was my handmaiden.”

“Was?”

The stateswoman felt a chill descend upon her and lowered her gaze. “Two years ago, she left my estate to find him.”

“Why would she?” Kassandra shook her head. “He was a madman.”

“A madman and a cultist,” Aspasia agreed. “I told her to.” Her words were coiled with something dark, something harsh. “She never returned.”

Kassandra tilted her head, trying to catch the woman’s gaze. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“There was nothing to tell,” Aspasia said firmly, looking up now. She gave Kassandra’s hand a squeeze, insistent. “I thought I knew what I was doing.” But her reassurance had come too late. In that instant, something shifted in the air.

“You _ told _ me to wait.” Kassandra’s expression darkened, the implication in it as clear as day.

“I did.” Aspasia closed her eyes, unwilling to witness the look of betrayal directed at her. “But I couldn’t—in the end, I couldn’t wait. I needed him to be brought to justice.”

“So you sent his own sister after him?” Kassandra shook her head. “He must have known she was linked to you.”

Something like irritation flared at Aspasia, and she shifted slightly to draw away from the Eagle Bearer. “What are you saying, Kassandra?”

A scowl was setting in slowly on Kassandra’s face. There was that predatory, animalistic side again. Aspasia shuddered, but leveled the mercenary with a hard gaze of her own.

“What if he—went after Phoibe because you—” Kassandra looked away sharply. “I can’t even say it.”

Aspasia bristled, and kept her distance. “You don’t have to. It seems you’ve made your conclusion fairly quickly.”

“Can you blame me for being unable to see it any other way?”

The accusation drove Aspasia to her feet. She towered over the fuming Eagle Bearer. Her shadow fell across Kassandra, still seated on the bench, and Aspasia felt a violent tremor in her hands. Fury bubbled deep within her.

“Had I _ known_,” Aspasia said in a low voice, “I would never—I would _ never _have tried it, Kassandra. Do you hear me?”

The Eagle Bearer remained silent in a display of defiance, though her gaze shifted. It never completely settled on Aspasia, caught in a halfway place. The sight left Aspasia feeling slighted, and she turned her heel on the Eagle Bearer, headed for the steps down to the main deck.

“I _loved_ her,” Aspasia’s voice was unsteady, “And that is the truth. Don’t you dare turn me into her killer.”

Kassandra, as though she had just been rudely splashed with freezing water, started out of her seat just in time to clasp a hand around Aspasia’s wrist, so nearly out of reach. The anger receded from her voice like waves departing from a shoreline, and in its place sprouted a small note of fear. “Wait. I’m... sorry.”

Aspasia ground to a halt. The sea breeze lapped at them both, as though trying to soothe the situation and drain the tension away.

“I did not come to you to be accused like this,” Aspasia turned, despite the lingering roiling feeling inside her. 

“I know. I _ know_,” Kassandra said gently, unable to meet her eyes. “Please, I…” Her voice trailed off, drowned by the sound of thrashing waves, and her expression was downcast. “I need you.”

There was no walking away from this, Aspasia thought. Not when she looked like _ this_, yielding and defenseless. The fire of her own anger flickered weak, soon to reduce itself to mere embers. It was almost absurd, she reflected inwardly, how quick she had been to turn back.

She drew close, knowing full well she was yielding all the same, and wrapped her arms around Kassandra’s neck. “Then don’t hurt me.”

It felt so much like taming a creature of the wild, and holding its raw power in the palm of a hand. Aspasia watched her, lips parted slightly, as she closed her eyes, touching their foreheads together before drawing her back into a tight embrace. 

“Never again.”

“Good,” Aspasia murmured, and kissed her softly on the jaw.

*

The room was shrouded in shadow, save for one bright spot in the center of an overwhelming darkness. A wall sconce to Deimos’ left illuminated what it could, its fire crackling softly in the silence. In the flickering light, he saw a chaotic spread of papyrus and tablets laid across an ornate desk. 

Scattered across these things were glittering gold coins, firelight glinting off them. Deimos stared hard at them, trying to understand what he was seeing.

_ This… isn’t drachmae. What is he up to?_

The air was heavy here, like something was hidden in the shadows waiting to strike. And soon enough, Kleon materialised from behind, as though he had been born straight out of the night itself.

The Athenian general walked a slow arc around Deimos, hands neatly clasped behind his back. He followed the Chosen One’s unwavering gaze and huffed in laughter.

“Have you never seen Persian coin before, boy?”

Deimos curled his hands into fists, tight enough to break the skin on the inside of his palms. “Don’t call me that.”

“I mean no disrespect,” Kleon said in a faint drawl, “but I do believe it was _ you _who decided to unceremoniously dispose Athens of its king. In a rather gruesome fashion, too.”

“Do you pretend to be against it?” Deimos lifted his chin, glaring down at the Athenian. “You now have Athens in the palm of your hand.”

Kleon nodded, patronising. “Indeed. Now, why don’t you explain why you were working with a traitor, of all people?”

“He had a way in.” Deimos bit back a snarl. “He lured Perikles to the Parthenon. It served us both, in the end.”

“And what of you now, Deimos? Are you a traitor, as well?”

Deimos’ gaze flickered back to the Persian coins, briefly. “No,” he bit out. “Are you?”

Kleon looked back over at his desk. “Ah. So you think you know something.”

“I haven’t said a word,” Deimos spread his hands out. “I don’t mean to pry.”

“So you say. You do realise your guardian is no longer with us,” Kleon said, an air of indifference about him as he stepped around the desk to pick up a single gold coin. “You’ll understand if I have my doubts about your loyalty.”

“She is _ nothing _ to me. Her idle fancies about a renewed Kosmos will only set us back.”

Kleon nodded again, but this time there was a genuine fire in his eyes. “Good. Then we’re both starting off on the right foot. Aspasia thinks the Eagle Bearer is a suitable weapon to wield against us. Your _ sister_,” his lips curled into a menacing grin, “over _ you_.”

Deimos growled, and the darkness pulsed around him in the firelight. “Then she chose poorly.”

“We will prove that in time.” Kleon gathered up the Persian currency and dropped them into a small pouch, coins clinking loudly in the still air. Deimos watched him with great interest, even as he disciplined his expression into cool neutrality. 

When he was done, Kleon tossed the pouch into the air. Catching it, he spared Deimos a thoughtful glance. 

“Hunt your sister. Bring her to her knees. Then we can safely deal with dear Aspasia, unobstructed.”

Deimos allowed a nod, appearing pliant at last. And then he was gone, swallowed into the night. Kleon watched the doorway for a long time, before settling back down into his seat. _Time to send a letter to Boeotia. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Between school and work, it's been a rough ride - so the only rational, healthy response to this is to write another chapter. If I keep reading this over and over again to make a million changes, I'll never let this see the light of day. So here it is. For better or for worse. (Chapter title inspired by a line from Odysseus, because of course.)


	16. From Ashes We Rise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Come back to me.”

The waters surrounding Naxos Island were bright and shallow near the docks, and as the _ Adrestia _pulled in Kassandra could see white sand swirling beneath the waves, clear as day. 

Only one sizeable merchant ship was anchored there, which made the _ Adrestia _the most intimidating-looking—and by far the largest—ship; island dwellers who had previously been content to mill about back and forth on land were beginning to stop and gesture at Naxos’ newest visitor.

It was an island that boasted nothing grand, yet held the kind of rustic, quiet charm that reminded Kassandra deeply of Kephallonia. A twinge of pain arose in her chest at the memory, as though the island itself had become synonymous with the memory of Phoibe. She braced herself against the railing, more to steady the feeling in her heart than anything else, as the ship rocked gently to a stop.

The sun bore down on Naxos generously from its highest point in the sky. Lush greenery spread across mountain slopes and elevated rocky ridges beyond the village perimeter, holding untold secrets and sights Kassandra had an itch to explore if time permitted.

But there was only one thing—one person—on her mind now. Barnabas waved for their men to lower the ramp against the dock edge, and sidled up to Kassandra. 

He wriggled his eyebrows at her suggestively when she turned to look at him.

“So…” He jerked his head in Aspasia’s general direction. The socialite looked to be deep in conversation with Herodotos, hands gesturing gently as they spoke. “Is that still going on, or—ow!”

Kassandra drove her elbow neatly into his side, briefly smirking at the way he winced and leaped back.

“That’s really not your business, is it, Barnabas?” Kassandra quipped, cheery.

He rubbed the area where she had so unceremoniously attacked him, and looked to be the perfect portrait of utter betrayal. “And here I thought we were best friends!”

“Best friends,” Kassandra said, eyeing Aspasia to make sure she wasn’t yet within earshot, “should know not to toe the line.”

“Wanna talk about crossing lines, eh? Then what about that night you rolled around all night on my clean deck?” Barnabas tapped his foot.

Kassandra waved him off, unaffected. “We cleaned up after ourselves. And you’re not baiting me into telling you anything this way.”

Barnabas scoffed, crossing his arms and managing, somehow, to muster all the air of a petulant child. “Bullshit. I bet you’d tell Herodotos, right?”

“Herodotos wouldn’t even ask. Because he has manners, Barnabas.”

“_Malake_,” Barnabas muttered, his good eye rolling skyward. He mumbled something about women and “their secrets” to himself before being distracted by a crew member messing up a knot they were attempting to tie. He sprung into action immediately, ever ready to be the voice of correction and wisdom on board the _ Adrestia_, and disappeared from her side.

Kassandra cracked a grin as she watched him go, just as Aspasia sauntered over, an expectant look directed at the Eagle Bearer. “Shall we?”

They stepped off the ramp together and finally made landfall. Kassandra walked in step with Aspasia as they cut through the docks, passing between curious stares and half-finished fishing boats, and kept her eyes on the path ahead, sloping upwards.

“I’ve dreamed of this day for so long,” said Kassandra, suddenly wistful.

Aspasia touched a hand to the inside of Kassandra’s palm, fingers weaving. “It must feel so strange for you to be here, after all this time."

“Strange,” Kassandra agreed, “It kept me alive on Kephallonia, on bad days. Now I’m just ten steps away.”

Aspasia leaned her head against the Eagle Bearer’s shoulder briefly. Her eyes, too, were fixated on what lay ahead.

“And I will not leave you even for a single one.”

*

For all intents and purposes, Myrrine had allowed Naxos to continue calling her Phoenix, even if it soon became clear to her men that she was the former wife of the Wolf of Sparta.

It was, first and foremost, the mask she wore to remain hidden from the Cult of Kosmos, and secondly it commanded the respect she needed to keep the island well in check. It was not lost on anyone that she was only one woman out of the two who stood with the rest of the council on Naxos, the second being Timo, and with Silanos breathing smoke as he waited to strike from Paros, she needed the men to trust her implicitly—or fear her. It mattered little which it was.

What mattered was getting the job done. She had come too far to fail now, especially in the face of a suspected cultist that Naxos had no confidence of defeating. Yet. So far, all she'd managed to retrieve were scraps of information, bits of code. It was shadowplay at its finest, leaving her unable to piece anything together to confirm her suspicions.

“I won’t be intimidated.” She dragged a finger over the map laid out before them, along the waters that sat between Paros and Naxos. “We’ll double the patrols and establish a line of defense around the perimeter, if we have men to spare. If any of them make it to our shores, I want to be the first to know.”

“Yes, Archon.” Timo met her gaze, ever ready. Myrrine’s heart swelled with pride, and turned to the rest of her men, who seemed to be rippling with discomfort and unspoken objections. That is, until one man stepped forth to plead his case. 

“Yet, the merchants,” Chersis began, spreading his hands, “There are concerns—”

“And I understand them. But the town and its quarries are vital.” Myrrine jabbed at the map where Naxos laid, with force. “I will not abandon the people.”

“We should strike at Paros _ tonight_,” he insisted, hands closed into fists, “With the element of surprise, we can seize the upper hand and end this.”

“It’s what Silanos wants. No, we cannot play into his hand.”

“But—”

“We must not make the wrong decision, Chersis.” Silence reigned, following the finality in her words. “You may all go.”

The men filed out neatly and without protest. Timo spared her a glance, but there was no sympathy or pity there. Only firm understanding—and burning confidence in her Archon. They exchanged nods, and then she was gone as well, disappearing through the doorway and out into the evening sun.

She turned to the open balcony, able to breathe freely at last, and stepped out where she could overlook the port of Naxos.

There was a ship docked there that she did not recognise. Red sails rippled gently in the wind. Yet it was not Spartan—Myrrine would have recognised the Spartan emblem easily, even from such a great distance. None of her scouts had come to report anything unusual that day, however—how long had it been docked here?—and so Myrrine smoothed suspicion from her thoughts in silence.

It would be fine. Silanos’ days were numbered, and...

Myrrine stirred out of her reverie at the sound of someone’s footsteps across the carpet, heavy enough that they weren’t muffled in the slightest. 

“Who’s there? The meeting’s over—” The rest of her words were stolen from her when she turned, gaze settling over the woman standing before her. There was something in that face, in those eyes, that Myrrine had known all her life, from so long ago—

“Kassandra?”

The woman slowed to a halt, suddenly unsure, and stepped no further. Instead, she waited, rooted to the spot, and slowly drew her weapon—not in hostility, but…

_ Pater’s spear. _

Myrrine crossed the space between them, cutting through the years that had pushed mother and daughter apart. Without hesitation, she seized her daughter into an embrace, fierce and tight, and felt herself trembling as she held her close. “Kassandra,” she said again in a bare whisper. “Gods, I—how is—”

“_Mater_,” Kassandra said softly as she wrapped her arms around her mother’s waist. There was the slightest quiver in her voice. “I’ve found you.”

Tears fogged Myrrine’s vision, and her heart was pounding in her chest as she attempted to calm herself with even breaths. “I saw you in my dreams, falling—every night, over and over,” she murmured.

“Alexios is alive.”

Myrrine drew back, slow, and looked into her daughter’s face. There were tears in her eyes as well, and the Archon knew that her sudden revelation had not been a trick of the mind, or uttered in jest. It was the truth, and it was as real as their sudden reunion, thrust upon her as though it had been a gift of provision from the gods. For once.

“They have him,” Myrrine said, “Don’t they?”

Kassandra could do nothing but nod.

Myrrine reached out to clasp her daughter’s hands in hers, and squeezed firmly. She felt the rough calluses there, along the inside of her palms and along her fingers, and felt her heart clench at what it meant.

“You’ve been fighting all your life, haven’t you? You were alone.” Myrrine lifted Kassandra’s hands to get a better look, and felt a keen sadness rise up in her again. “Oh, Kassandra.”

“Fought my way to you,” Kassandra said softly. “I didn’t think it was even possible.”

“And your brother,” Myrrine looked up, tears drying at her next thought, “We have to get him back as well.”

Kassandra was blinking away her own tears with great effort. “He’s… too far gone, _ mater. _I saw him, in Athens, he—” The Eagle Bearer stopped short, and did not continue. Those unspoken words hung over them both like a hammer. Myrrine felt the weight of it and couldn't bring herself to discern what it possibly meant, or what Kassandra had seen with her own eyes.

“It doesn’t matter what he did. What they made him do.” Myrrine reached out to catch a stray tear that had escaped, and was sliding down Kassandra’s cheek. “I gave up on both of you once, and I will never do it again.”

Kassandra leaned into Myrrine’s touch, working up a small smile. “Alright.”

“Archon! Men from Paros, on the beach!”

Timo had materialised by the doorway again, looking disheveled from the sprint she had taken here. In an instant, Myrrine was moving to action, and Kassandra fell quickly into step beside her.

“Kassandra,” Myrrine began, but her daughter needed no further explanation.

“We’ll deal with them,” she said, golden eyes illuminated by the light of Timo’s torch, “And then we’ll talk.”

*

Silanos, Kassandra learned, had allied himself with Athens. The sight of the Athenian emblem brought back memories of Perikles, the plague, and what had transpired that dreadful day. It spurred the Eagle Bearer into action, whether motivated by grief or a desire for revenge, and she struck down every Athenian soldier cleanly, with her dagger in one hand and the Spear of Leonidas in the other.

Every harsh sound of death kept the dark memories at bay, and invigorated the Eagle Bearer. 

Beside her, Myrrine was also warring with Naxos’ unwelcome guests, creating ample space with every practiced sweep of her spear. Mother and daughter stood back to back on the beach, coming together as one unstoppable force that held Silanos’ men at bay.

Kassandra lunged at an Athenian soldier hiding behind his shield and tackled him into the sand, grunting loudly. She dropped into a roll as he landed with a soft thud and, as the dagger and her arm became one, struck him in the throat.

She heard the rough shuffle of steps in the sand behind her and immediately pivoted to dodge the dangerous, sweeping arc of a longsword. 

She twisted her body, finding the proper foothold to get back on her feet, and in the process opened a large gash across her attacker’s knee, crimson liquid spilling forth and dotting the sand in a wide spread.

The soldier howled in pain but refused to back down, and charged at her before swinging his sword heavily. Kassandra parried his attack without flinching, and knocked the air out of him with a powerful kick to the stomach. He reared back, opening up his defenses, and Kassandra ended him quickly by spearing him right between the eyes.

Silanos clearly had not expected someone like the Eagle Bearer to show up in defense of Naxos. His men were not that many in number, and only three rowboats sat along the shoreline; Kassandra made quick work of them, propelled by an anger she had buried deep inside her, and returned to Myrrine’s side when the last Athenian fell against the sand, torn apart.

There was a meaningful look in Myrrine’s eyes as she looked at her daughter, huffing silently from the drawn out battle.

“Look at you,” she said softly, tucking strands of hair behind Kassandra’s ear. “Fearsome and unstoppable.”

“I learned from the best.” Kassandra wiped at the spots of blood on her cheek with the back of her hand. 

“So you did.” There was a wistfulness to Myrrine’s expression now. “You’re Spartan. Head to toe.”

Kassandra’s smile failed to reach her eyes. “I haven’t been Spartan in years, _ mater_.”

“You’re Spartan,” Myrrine said again, and reached up to wipe a spot Kassandra had missed. “Now come. It’s time we spoke further about Paros.”

*

Kassandra had never expected her mother to assume the role of politician so easily in tandem with being Naxos’ overarching war leader. 

But then again, Kassandra reminded herself, this was Leonidas’ daughter—raised by Spartan elites. There was nowhere else, apart from a battlefield, that Myrrine would be in her best element—right at the center of a bustling symposium and surrounded by a wide assortment of men and women, wielding their own personal goals and agenda. There was that old, familiar feeling of suffocation. She felt many eyes on her, and wished with all her heart they would find something else to be interested in. 

Just about the only thing Kassandra liked about being here with her mother was that she wasn’t required to fit into another dress. And she would take any and every little win.

She thought briefly of Perikles’ symposium, and a dull ache surfaced somewhere inside her. It felt like lifetimes ago when Phoibe was urging her into Aspasia’s dress. There had been no indication, then, that her life was about to change forever. Kassandra wondered faintly if she would have let herself step inside Athens, knowing what she knew now of its fate.

By the time she arrived, attracting wide-eyed looks and gasps of surprise from all directions, Myrrine was already deep in conversation with Aspasia. The stateswoman’s presence did not come as a surprise to Kassandra, all things considered, but Myrrine’s expression seemed to be caught somewhere between apprehension and irritation.

Of course. Kassandra eyed the Athenian garment that Aspasia still wore. She was Athenian—at least, in the eyes of her mother. 

Kassandra took one brave step forward, and lodged herself between the two women.

“Did you not hear what I said?” Aspasia’s gaze narrowed, barely registering the Eagle Bearer’s entrance. “The Cult is a group of skilled killers. By being here, in the public eye—they’ll find you easily.”

Kassandra opened her mouth to interject, but Myrrine did not miss a beat. “I understand you and these dangers you speak of,” she said, firm, “but having been involved with politics for so long, surely you understand my need to be seen here.”

“Athens fell before my eyes.” Aspasia’s words took on an edge. “I’ve seen too many people die. You must come away with me.”

“Aspasia,” Kassandra’s voice was soft, but commanding. “We should trust my mother.”

Aspasia looked to her, seemingly unconvinced. “I know you think that by you being here, the Cult will stay its hand. But they want you as well, Kassandra. You know this.”

“Then we should work to prove and confirm my suspicions that Silanos is working for the Cult,” said Myrrine, sparing her daughter a questioning look that Kassandra suspected she would have to address later. “And we end this stalemate, freeing Naxos from danger.”

“Do you think that if he was, it would be easy to unmask him?” Aspasia challenged, unwilling to back down. “You don’t know what these men are capable of.”

“I know _ full well_,” Myrrine glowered, “exactly what they’re capable of. I assure you.”

Kassandra looked from one woman to the other, feeling absurd that she was caught between their opinions. _ Malake. _

“Look,” she finally interjected, gesturing awkwardly between them, “We won’t hide. And I do intend to give the Cult pause, even for a moment.”

“And it’s important that I shore up support on Naxos before we retaliate against Silanos and his Athenians. Your concerns are well noted, Aspasia, and I am grateful. But we shall stand our ground here,” said Myrrine, ending off with an undeniable note of finality in her words.

The stateswoman said nothing for a moment, expression turning neutral. It seemed, for now, that Myrrine had emerged as the victor of this tense conversation, and the tension in her mother’s shoulders subsided into a more relaxed posture.

Kassandra turned to Aspasia then, noting her continued silence, and offered a silent plea in her eyes. “I’ll take care of the Cult. It’s what I do, right?”

“Right.” Aspasia pursed her lips. Her gaze flickered to where Myrrine was still standing. There was an expectant look on the Archon’s weary face. “Then I will simply have to watch over you, Myrrine.”

Timo bristled visibly and made a small noise of disapproval as though to say, _ That’s my job, not yours. _

Myrrine hummed in assent, deciding not to pursue the matter further, and brushed past both the Eagle Bearer and her guest. “Then if you’ll excuse me for the moment, I need to make my rounds. Kassandra.”

“_Mater_.”

When the Archon was well out of earshot, Kassandra followed Aspasia and slipped out of sight, down the steps to a quiet corner of the temple grounds. Sweet incense wafted through the air, mingling with the gentle scent of flowers among the shrubbery. The vibrant cacophony of the symposium lessened here, and the people’s murmurs were now just a distant hum in the air.

When she was certain no one was around or peering at them from a vantage point, Kassandra reached out and took Aspasia’s hand. She noticed the way Aspasia’s expression softened at her touch, and took the chance to press in.

“I’m concerned that you’re not taking this seriously, Kassandra,” Aspasia began, though she did not pull away. Instead, she let the Eagle Bearer draw close enough to press a soft kiss to her hair. “I know seeing your mother again has given you confidence, but—”

“I won’t let anything happen,” Kassandra said softly. “You know that.”

“I do. More than anyone. And I have faith in you, but even you can’t be everywhere at once.” Aspasia braced herself against Kassandra’s chest, hands resting there. “Even if I wish it could be so.”

“It’ll be fast. In and out.” Kassandra offered a smile, reassuring. “Just point me in the right direction.”

Aspasia sighed, and leaned against her. “You never do give up, do you? Knowing the Cult’s obsession with mysticism, I would point you in the direction of Mount Zas.”

“Then that’s where I’ll go.”

Kassandra began to pull away, only to be roughly forced back into place by a tug on her scarf. Aspasia’s eyes were glittering with intent and meaning as she looked up at the Eagle Bearer. “I’ll let you leave,” she said darkly, “on one condition.”

Kassandra swallowed, mouth drying, and briefly looked around them to make sure no one had spotted them yet. “Name it,” she said in a whisper.

“Come back to me,” Aspasia’s grip tightened, as though it was all she could do to hold onto life itself, “_Alive_. Are we clear?”

“Always.” And then Kassandra was leaning down to kiss her, soft and tender. Aspasia ran her tongue over the Eagle Bearer’s lip, and sighed against her mouth. The touch of fear left her, its cold grip departing, and she hooked her arms around the mercenary's neck for one more lingering kiss before releasing her at last.

Above, beneath the soft shade of the canopy, Myrrine watched the unfolding scene with an unreadable expression that betrayed nothing of the thoughts that swirled within her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A tad bit shorter than the last update, but. Myrrine is finally with us! I've also finally decided that the AO3 line breaks are kind of ugly, so I went back to change them all. Next up: Kassandra is on clean up duty, and Myrrine flexes her mother's intuition.
> 
> Thank you guys for getting me this far. Y'all deserve the world. I hope the story isn't slowing down or feeling too draggy - I just love exploring what went on in-game from different angles... ahhhhhhh.


	17. Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You will live for me, and no one else.”

_ Aspasia, _

_ Our sisters inform me you are in the company of the Eagle Bearer, and so I took liberties in sending watchful eyes to Naxos. Just precaution, nothing more—I am still expecting you in Korinth, but I don’t wish to take any chances. _

_ You were right to put us on alert, even so far from Athens. Our little birds report that Kleon is prowling about in the night, inviting mysterious guests into his abode, and allowing them to line his pockets in exchange for… room? I am not certain; these are men we have never seen before from foreign lands. _

_ At the same time, our esteemed friend surrounds himself with supporters and admirers, living off the fat of the land—if such a thing were actually possible. The plague is dying, slow but steady, but Kleon had no real hand in it. I would be more inclined to believe the gods have decided on mercy, at last. _

_ We hear whispers of dissent and anger outside of Athens. Yet the walls serve Athens’ new king well. There will not be any progress for some time, and I suggest you make for Korinth as soon as is possible. At least here, I know he cannot reach you. _

_ But you may be interested to hear of a peculiar thing: the young man by Kleon’s side has been seen less and less in recent days. He has not yet left Athens, and instead spends his nights retracing his master’s steps, with no real directive guiding his path. It would seem Kleon’s visitors have him unsettled and paranoid. I cannot claim to know more than that, but things may reveal themselves in time. _

_ Until we see each other again, may the gods keep you safe—and should they falter, I know the Eagle Bearer will not. You chose well. _

_ And I am sorry to hear about Phoibe. I know you loved her very much. _

_ Your dear friend,  
_ _ Anthousa _

*

In and out. That’s what Kassandra had told Aspasia. But the sheer number of cultists hiding underground had taken her by surprise—Silanos surely over-compensated as a result of his men’s failure to take the beach—and by the time she reemerged into the open, blood dripping from the steel of her dagger and carrying a weariness that caused her legs to tremble, the early afternoon had faded into the purple sky of the evening.

Phobos neighed for her attention as she reappeared at the entrance of the cave, a deep mouth that had been cut into the side of the mountain. It had once been a den of wolves until the cultists, presumably, arrived to establish their secret base for themselves. How those men endured the thick stench of death for so long was lost on her. 

She stepped over rotting piles of wolf corpses, nose wrinkling, and gratefully breathed in the fresh air of the outside. 

Deep orange sunlight filtered through the trees in a multitude of spots, as though stars themselves against the thick canopy of the forest. She came to a halt beside Phobos and leaned against him for a moment, taking the time to clean the blood off her weapon as best as possible before securing it on her belt.

“Just another day’s work,” Kassandra said, as Phobos turned one eye to look upon his rider inquisitively. “I found something interesting that I think _ mater _could use.”

The horse snorted powerfully in her general direction, as though acknowledging her words. She took the chance to inspect his girdle, tugging lightly at its leather straps to make sure it wasn’t cutting into the beast’s face and mouth, before hoisting herself up onto his back.

At her gentle prompt, heel tapping lightly against his side, Phobos started into a tentative trot before breaking into a thunderous gallop down the mountainside. There was no mistaking his enthusiasm. He often enjoyed the freedom and space that came with taking the road less travelled, something his rider, too, shared a deep love for. It would be a fast ride back to the temple.

Nestled in her armor was a single piece of correspondence that the cultists hadn’t thought to dispose of. It was unreadable, as far as Kassandra could tell, written in a code that held no resemblance or relation at all to Greek, even in its most archaic form. Her lost years of Spartan education might have helped her in this moment, but there was no turning back time.

There was only going forward, hurtling through the forest on Phobos’ back, bravely toward what waited for her next.

*

True to her word, Aspasia stayed by Myrrine, much to the Phoenix’s chagrin. They waited for Kassandra where she had left them both—safe within the walls of the temple that played host to Myrrine’s symposium. 

Kassandra soothed Phobos after the long ride with a gentle rub along the length of his nose before ascending the steps leading up to where they were, and every so often she glanced up; the temple was Naxos’ grandest structure, stark in the midst of the humble village that sat at its feet, and was now framed by glittering stars. Even Kassandra had to admit it was easier in the night to believe the gods _ were _up there, looking down at all of the Greek world and waiting to see what would happen next.

Now if only they would actually do something.

As she emerged on the landing, clutching the cultist’s letter in her hand, she saw relief flooding Aspasia’s face in the dark. Her heart swelled at the sight but she steeled her expression, and instead addressed Myrrine first with her prize in hand.

“There were cultists. _ Many _cultists.” She raised the papyrus, rolled up neatly. “But Mount Zas is empty now. This is what I found on them.”

Myrrine unfurled the letter in her hands, and Aspasia stepped forward to read it as well. For once, there seemed to be little of the hostility and apprehension between them from before, and Myrrine looked the stateswoman with puzzlement fresh on her features. “It’s been coded,” she said, offering the letter to Aspasia.

Dark curls fell over the sides of Aspasia’s face as she took over, brows fixed in concentration. “I recognise it. It confirms Silanos’ affiliation with the Cult—and that there is another, in Sparta.” She looked up at mother and daughter, expression turning grave. “One of the Spartan kings.”

“Impossible.” Myrrine’s eyes narrowed. “Sparta has always resisted the Cult.”

Kassandra let out a soft sigh. “It may no longer be the Sparta we know.”

Aspasia slowly rolled the letter back. “And the Cult has ways of seeping into every echelon of Greek society. It would not be a surprise.”

“To you, perhaps.” Myrrine met Aspasia’s gaze, her guardedness returning. “How is it that you know the Cult of Kosmos so well?”

The question fell with the weight of the world, it seemed. Kassandra reached out a hand, though it was unclear who she was reaching for. “_Mater_—”

“No,” Aspasia said quietly. “It’s alright. You’re right to question me, Myrrine. I will not lie—” her eyes flickered towards Kassandra and then back again, “—my former handmaiden had a brother who worked for the Cult. It was her best kept secret—until it wasn't anymore.”

Myrrine drew back, brows meeting in shock. “And you kept this from us? How are we supposed to take this news lightly—?”

“I already knew.”

Her mother’s gaze turned on her now, and Kassandra swallowed hard. There was a strange look on Aspasia’s face, trapped somewhere between consternation and loss. 

“Aspasia told me the truth on the way here,” the Eagle Bearer went on, sparing Aspasia a quick glance. “I trust her.”

Myrrine’s eyes went from her daughter to Aspasia. “I see.” She took a breath, smoothing the creases along her robe. “Fine. Let us deal with more pressing matters, first, before we talk of Sparta again.”

“Silanos’ fleet is already on the move,” Aspasia said, nodding. It was hard to tell what she was thinking at this moment, but Kassandra found herself struggling to even read her own mother, let alone both of them at once. “He has decided his own fate.”

“But Naxos’ fleet is nothing compared to what has emerged from Paros.” Myrrine pinched her nose bridge, eyes closing briefly. “I fear we may have forced his hand at the expense of this entire island.”

Kassandra looked to the docks, now empty at night save for the _ Adrestia, _sails drawn up. Barnabas would be down there pacing the deck, no doubt already aware of the approaching fleet from the other island, and keeping their crew on high alert.

“Maybe not.” When she looked back, both women were staring at her with varying degrees of understanding. “Let me do it. I’ll get out there and take care of Silanos, once and for all.”

“One ship against four?” Aspasia narrowed her gaze, clearly against the idea. “You’re courting death.”

“For once, we agree on something.” Myrrine took Kassandra’s hands in hers. “It’s too much of a risk.”

Kassandra turned her hands over in Myrrine’s, and squeezed gently. “I’ve taken a thousand risks to come here.” Briefly, a smile graced her lips. “What’s one more? Will you trust me? Both of you?”

The two women exchanged glances.

“I do trust you,” Aspasia said at last, something close to wistfulness in her voice.

Myrrine held her daughter’s gaze for a moment longer, the resistance in her expression giving way to acceptance. “Very well. And afterwards, we will sail for Sparta together.”

Aspasia took the chance to excuse herself, following their mutual agreement and conclusion, but not before tossing one last meaningful look at Kassandra. 

Myrrine followed her daughter’s gaze, and then beckoned for her to follow, suddenly weary.

“I need to speak with you about one last thing.”

“What is it?”

“Walk with me.”

Kassandra followed alongside her, watching her mother keenly as she noted the weight in her voice. There were new lines to her face now that she hadn’t seen before that spoke deeply of the years lost between them, and despite Myrrine still being very much Myrrine, Kassandra could sense that this was no longer the same woman who taught her, all those years ago, how to wield her grandfather’s spear, and to always look to the future with hope and boldness. 

Loose, grey strands of hair fell across her mother’s face as they walked, the sea breeze lapping at them gently. When had her hair become so grey?

They came to the entrance of the temple, overlooking the main town of Naxos. In its sprawling pathways, tiny flickering lights drifted to and fro as the Archon’s men mobilised towards the beach. There were distant shouts for the people to return to their homes, to hold their children close. Those shouts of warning embedded themselves deep into Kassandra’s chest, and her heart pounded at the thought of failure.

Across the dark waters, four shadowy shapes lingered.

“How long has this been going on?” Myrrine came to a stop at the base of the steps leading up to the temple, folding her hands behind her back. “You and her.”

Kassandra dragged her gaze away from the coast, straightening up. “I won’t lie to you, _ mater. _We’ve been…” She paused, briefly. “It’s been two years. Maybe a little more than that.”

Myrrine pursed her lips in a tight line and began to pace. A long stretch of silence gulfed between mother and daughter.

“You know I don’t trust her, but do you know why?” Myrrine posed the question without stopping in her tracks, continuing her slow, contemplative pacing.

Kassandra’s gaze followed her mother’s movement. “She’s Athenian.”

Myrrine shook her head. “No, Kassandra. This has nothing to do with Spartan loyalty. Think,” she said, urging gently, “And consider her ties to the Cult. Even if the link is weak, it is still a link. And she knew about the cultists that Silanos had sent out to kill us both.” Her mother gestured with both hands. “The right place, the right time.”

Kassandra looked away in one jerking motion, as though struck. “Don’t. This is not what you make it out to be. She’s one of the _ hetaera_, like Anthousa.”

“And being _ hetaera _prevents one from being a cultist?”

“_Mater,_” Kassandra could not stop the warning from seeping into her tone, “Please. She’s been through enough. The Cult killed Perikles before her very eyes.”

“It is as she said. ‘Every echelon of Greek society.’” Myrrine slowed to a halt, gaze falling to the ground between them for a moment, as though there were answers to be found, carved into stone. “Why is it that Perikles is the only one dead, and no one thought to come after his most trusted companion? She has a strong hold on Athenian politics, does she not? Do you think a woman like her will not have her secrets?”

“Everyone has secrets.” Kassandra crossed her arms, as though attempting to shield herself from her mother’s words. Yet, as though from across a great distance, the reason in Myrrine’s argument approached like an ocean wave, unrelenting. “Aspasia wouldn’t lie to me.”

Myrrine crossed the chasm between them. She touched a hand to Kassandra’s cheek and brushed a thumb across it, searchingly. 

“Is this loyalty misplaced, Kassandra?” she asked, quiet.

Kassandra clasped her hand over Myrrine’s, releasing a shuddering breath. “I’ve made my choice.”

“So you have.” There was pain in her mother’s gaze, and Kassandra wished she would never have to witness it again. “So you have, my lamb.”

*

In the thick darkness, broken only by the half moon peering out from behind the clouds, flaming arrows sailed through the air with murderous intent. The _ Adrestia _groaned like a mighty beast as it reared itself amid thrashing waves, and at Kassandra’s signal it began to race towards its last target. The roar of her men and women, rowing hard against the Aegean itself, thundered into the night as dawn approached.

Silanos stood at the helm of his ship, sword drawn. All around him, men were falling with arrows sticking out their chests. Others had been skewered by javelins, straight through their skulls. Kassandra’s lieutenants took the first leap and crossed the dark rift to begin their final assault. 

The Eagle Bearer leaped after them, eyes fixed on the one man who stood between Naxos and unending peace. She landed on the _ Amber Dawn_’s deck rail with practiced balance, toes flexing, and looked to Silanos across a sea of chaos. The flames that clung to his ship were a dazzling force in the night, and she could see the snarl on his face as he made his approach.

The deck was running red with blood.

“Daughter of Myrrine. At last.” Silanos swung his sword threateningly, and paced a slow arc across from the Eagle Bearer. “You’ve made quite a bit of trouble for me since coming to Naxos.”

Kassandra blew loose strands of hair from her face, feeling the heat of the flames licking dangerously close to the main deck. The sound of steel on steel rang out, mixed with the pained cries of those who were falling in battle. 

Silanos, she decided, would be one of them.

“It’s what I do to cultists like you,” she said, wielding her dagger in one hand and her grandfather’s spear in the other.

“You really think you’ve got it all figured out.” Silanos’ mouth curled into a grin with far too much teeth, and it was all he said before lunging across to strike her with his blade. 

Kassandra felt the full force of his strength as she trapped his blade between her dagger and spear. The steel edge lingered dangerously close to her face, and she pivoted quickly to push him off her. She followed up without hesitation, dropping into a low crouch to sweep at his legs and knock him off center. Silanos leaped back, and found himself flush against the other end of the deck. Behind, dark and angry waters awaited him.

“How many more men like me will you kill, Eagle Bearer,” he said, sidestepping the deadly arc of Kassandra’s dagger, “before you realise this isn’t enough?”

Kassandra turned, and met his sword with her blade. She pushed against him, steel screeching. “Every last one,” she growled.

“This is more than the men you hunt.” Silanos pushed back, baring his fangs once more. “This is more than the Greek world. And you and that little pup Deimos are just grasping foolishly in the dark. Child’s play.”

Kassandra grunted, and heard the unmistakable _ crack _ of wood splintering, somewhere above them. The main mast had fallen, and the _ Amber Dawn_’s main sail descended on the ship in a powerful gust of wind. Silanos looked up, momentarily distracted, and Kassandra seized her chance.

She swung her arm and crushed his nose with a fist. 

Her knuckles came away with blood as he stumbled back, clutching at his face. The wooden pole crashed right into the heart of the ship, tearing through the deck and down below. The entire structure rocked dangerously, and Kassandra could hear Barnabas calling for her return. 

Silanos, thrown off balance, attempted to center himself as he shouted across the flames. “It’s just destruction and slaughter with you. Not quite unlike your brother, Eagle Bearer. I do see the family resemblance, and the belief that a blade can solve all problems! How wrong you are!”

Kassandra threw herself across the dangerous hole that had opened up, and was threatening to split the ship neatly into two. Silanos dropped his sword with a laugh, but there was no mistaking the horrible light of fear in his eyes. She buried the hilt of her dagger up his jaw, breaking through the roof of his mouth, and felt him twitch from the shock of it. His blood was warm when it sprayed onto her skin, and she released him with a harsh shout. 

He had wanted to die like this, she realised. The revelation gave her no peace, and she turned to get a running start. The _ Amber Dawn _groaned and split apart like a fallen creature in the night, its insides spilling out in smoke and ash. Kassandra landed on deck at Barnabas’ feet, and when she looked up, his hand was outstretched. 

“Come on, hero. It’s over.”

Kassandra took his hand, even if she couldn’t quite believe him.

*

Myrrine and Timo awaited her on the shoreline. She stumbled into her mother’s arms, felt the strength in her embrace, and straightened herself somewhat. Timo’s gaze was full of awe and respect, and there were shouts of cheers that descended upon them from up the mountain, where the village looked on. 

“And now,” Myrrine pressed her forehead to Kassandra’s, relief in every word, “We sail for Sparta.”

Kassandra let out a heavy breath, and allowed herself to lean on her mother. It was then that she heard her mother’s murmur, soft enough that no one else could hear.

“She waits for you. The war room, where you found me.”

Kassandra drew back, lost. She held onto Myrrine’s arms, watching the rueful look in her mother’s eyes. 

“I thought...”

“It doesn’t matter what I think. Go now.” Sorrow. Acceptance. “I trust you know what you’re doing. And she will want to say goodbye.”

Kassandra let go of her mother at last, who was turning to Timo to offer her last instructions, and darted up the path in a daze.

Dawn broke at that moment, and the sun rose out of the depths of the ocean to greet Naxos and cleanse it with renewing fire.

*

Aspasia pulled her close and greeted her with a rough kiss, trembling and desperate. There was no buildup, no playing coy around each other, and Kassandra felt herself quiver with desire and agony, all at once. 

“I saw the battle from here,” Aspasia whispered against her ear, breath hot and heavy. “You’re magnificent, Kassandra. Never forget it.”

The war room had been vacated, following the beginning of Kassandra’s naval battle against Silanos. Which meant the table was empty and free for use. The Eagle Bearer lifted Aspasia easily and placed her on top of it, mouth moving with urgency across her neck and the slender curve of her shoulder. Her hands clumsily tugged at Aspasia’s clothing, stumbling over something yet unsaid.

“Kassandra,” Aspasia’s voice was gentle, reaching out to soothe untold wounds. The Eagle Bearer, she realised, had not stopped trembling since returning. “Look at me.”

At her instruction, Kassandra resurfaced. There was an anguished light in her eyes, gleaming with tears. It was not the look of a person who had just single-handedly saved an entire island from the Cult of Kosmos. Aspasia felt her heart clench painfully, and she reached out to lay a hand across Kassandra’s chest.

There, she felt the thundering, fearful beating of a heart.

“It feels impossible,” Kassandra whispered, tears in freefall, “Every time I kill one of them, it gets worse—”

“Kassandra—”

“And they all look at me the same,” she went on, the rise and fall of her chest intensifying, “They have my brother’s name on their lips, they tell me it will never be done, like they know something I don’t—”

“Hush.” Aspasia’s voice darkened, and her hand slid up to hold Kassandra gently by the chin. “Enough of this.”

“Aspasia.” Kassandra lowered her head, brushing her lips against Aspasia’s palm when she opened up her hand. She said nothing for a long time, swaying slightly on her feet, and looked lost when she finally raised her head. 

“Killing isn’t the answer,” the mercenary said, and blinked away the rest of her tears. 

It was just like her to do so, Aspasia thought absently. To pretend none of it was hurting her.

She pulled Kassandra close, kissing the corner of her mouth. “No, it isn’t. But they’re still a threat. They still want you dead. And I will not sit here, Kassandra, and allow you to do as you please,” she said, full of meaning, “so that they can _ win._”

The Eagle Bearer shook slightly, beneath the weight of her words. “I want my brother. I want Phoibe,” she murmured, repeating a wish she had uttered to Aspasia so long ago. “I want them to leave us alone.”

“Then live,” Aspasia breathed, mouth moving slow against Kassandra’s. “Live and fight, and make them wish they never looked upon your family.”

Kassandra kissed her, soft and tentative. A fire was building between their bodies, pressed so close together, and Aspasia felt strong arms come around her waist.

“Is that an order?” Kassandra mumbled, burying her face in Aspasia’s neck.

“Yes.” Aspasia closed her eyes, serenity in her expression. “It is all I want you to do, from now until we see each other again.”

“Where will you go?”

“Korinth.”

“That’s…” The Eagle Bearer nipped lightly at her skin. “So far away from Sparta.”

Aspasia’s hands slid further around Kassandra’s waist, and unbuckled the armor that stood in their way. “I know.”

“You said you wouldn’t leave.”

“Kassandra…”

“Never mind.” Another bite, now. This time it was more insistent. The pain awoke something in Aspasia, and she felt those familiar hands move up her thighs. “I don’t want to think about it. Don’t want to think about never seeing you again. I just want-” A hiss, and she was silent once more.

“Tell me, Kassandra. Tell me the truth. What you really want.”

The Eagle Bearer drew back, before pulling her into a crushing, wet kiss. She bit down on Aspasia’s lip, more forceful than she had ever allowed herself to be, and felt the stateswoman groan lightly against her mouth.

When Kassandra pulled away, her expression was a mixture of lust and anger. It was a dizzying sight, and Aspasia braced herself by holding onto the Eagle Bearer’s shoulders.

“I want you,” came Kassandra’s slow reply. She was taking her time with it, stressing every word in a way that made Aspasia’s heart clench, over and over. “I want every sunrise and sunset, Aspasia. But I’m selfish; I want them only with you.” She leaned forward, eyes fixed on the redness that settled over where she had bitten. “So I’ll kill every last one of them. I promise. Then we can have our sunrises, our sunsets. _ That’s _what I want.”

Aspasia ran a thumb absently over Kassandra’s lower lip, as though attempting to feel the shape of her words, to fully grasp their meaning.

“Then you will live for me,” she commanded, a heated look in her eyes. “You will live for me, and no one else.”

Kassandra’s eyes fluttered to a close, making a small noise. There was a ghost of a smile on her lips, even as she wept into her embrace.

“Yes.”

*

_ Anthousa, _

_ The Eagle Bearer has left for Sparta. Our sisters should look south, to Lakonia, and continue to monitor the situation in anticipation of what will happen in Boeotia. _

_ I am, it seems, always in your debt. Thank you for your watchful eyes; they served me well here on Naxos. Leave the young man to himself and his thoughts, but we should continue to keep watch regardless. Kleon continues to make bold moves, believing that I am far removed from it all, but we both know that is not true. They may yet decide to turn on each other. _

_ I will be making for Korinth soon. We have much to discuss on the matter of Athens and the greater war effort._

_ And Phoibe was a bright light in the midst of darkness. I imagine I will never find another like her again. I feel like I am at the end of myself, with all these threads to hold onto. Perhaps you can offer me some words of wisdom, once we see each other again._

_ Your sister,  
_ _ Aspasia _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I WRESTLED FOR SO LONG TO DETERMINE HOW THIS CHAPTER WOULD END IN NAXOS. THERE IT IS. Kass has a lot to think about. Next up, a quick interlude with our stalwart, feral son Deimos. Am I also implying Anthousa is part of the Cult? We will see, we will see (and if anyone is wondering, Kassandra's refusal to broach the subject about Myrrine's suspicions with Aspasia is intentional. ALL IN GOOD TIME, FRIENDS!).
> 
> As always, thank you all for being so damn great. <3


	18. INTERLUDE: Amorges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Very well, Kleon the Everyman. We will not interfere. Do as you see fit."

Kleon enjoyed his days and nights in the shadow of Athena. Perhaps it was a mark of his egoistic nature, that he wanted to be seen and associated with the very soul of Athens herself at all times. Posturing for the people, as it were, now that old Perikles was long gone and buried. 

But it was not what he did in the daytime that interested Deimos; being so cocksure as he waved to his adoring crowd was a weary sight.

Instead, Deimos watched him nightly. He would lay himself flat on a warehouse roof, overlooking the plaza where Athena stood watch, and observe Kleon’s comings and goings. He would shed his bright, golden armour in favour of a dark tunic, and then bide his time in the cover of the night until Kleon showed himself.

He had more friends now, Deimos observed. But these were not Athenian men, nor did they wear the mask of Kosmos. Their accent was harder around the edges, never quite curling the way a Greek tongue would. And they spoke briefly, always. It was nothing but business with them, despite the modest way they dressed. 

These were not friends at all. These were Persians. 

They spoke of more men crossing the border that stood between Makedonia and Thrace, and thanked Kleon for it.

The newly-crowned leader of Athens straightened his back at their gratitude, and spoke audaciously of friendship. Deimos watched as one of the Persians responded with a half-nod, fishing out a little pouch that jangled loudly in the still air, its contents unmistakable.

_ Coin for passage into Greece. Unharmed. Allies, then. _ Deimos narrowed his eyes. _ To what end? _

The older of the two Persians, with a silvery mane that reached down to his collar, began to speak.

“The Spartans push in on Makedonia. It would seem your Athenians are losing ground.”

Kleon raised a hand, reassuring. “The Spartan king and I have an accord, Amorges. It is as I said: your men will not come to harm. You have time to prepare.”

“So it would seem. I should warn you now that a man hunts us, and is likely to follow us out of Persia. It would not do to be caught by surprise.”

“Oh?” Kleon inclined his head. “What is one man against your Order?”

“Everything.” The man named Amorges did not hide his scowl. “Xerxes died by his blade. He is the reason Persia has not yet found a foothold in Greece.”

“Then he is no friend of Kosmos. Grant me his name and description, and he will die before he reaches Makedonia.”

Amorges nodded once, and gave the name. _ Darius. _ And then another. _ Natakas. _Father and son.

“Another troublesome family, then,” Kleon said, chuckling darkly into the night. Amorges did not share his sense of humour, it seemed, and stood still with hands behind his back. The Athenian’s laugh died into a thin sound. “No matter. The Eagle Bearer and her kin come first, yes?” He waved a hand lazily. “How long will it take for the rest of your men to arrive?”

“That is yet to be determined. Unforeseen circumstances,” Amorges responded. 

“That man, Darius?”

“It is likely.” Amorges paused to contemplate something, and then addressed Kleon again, “We will return to Makedonia tonight. When the Eagle Bearer is dead, we will fulfil our end of the bargain and unite Greece under your banner.”

“Very well. The boy Deimos is on his way as we speak.”

“The wolf child?” Amorges tilted his head. “Peculiar.”

Kleon bristled. “Peculiar?”

“You know he seeks to overtake your cult,” said Amorges, bearing the expression of a teacher unimpressed at his wayward student, “The blood of Leonidas runs in his veins. He knows nothing of our accord, and stands out like a sore thumb. Yet you keep him on a leash.”

A scowl cut its way into Deimos’ face. His hands furled into tight fists. Kleon was nodding now, as though seriously considering the Persian man’s advice.

“We have sworn to stamp out Leonidas’ bloodline, yes, considering his defiance against our poor Xerxes. But-”

“Ah. I see.” Amorges actually smiled. “Deimos protects you from the Eagle Bearer. You fear her.” He waved a hand with an air of understanding, though it did not make his words less condescending. “Very well, Kleon the Everyman. We will not interfere. Do as you see fit.”

The Persians departed without waiting for Kleon’s response. The Athenian leader, with dark rage boiling deep within him, swept his gaze across the plaza, past the military warehouses. It suddenly occurred to him that anyone could have simply come by, even if the royal guard was stationed around the perimeter to keep unwelcome guests at bay.

Suspicion crept up on him like a gnarled hand over his shoulder.

But there was nothing out of the ordinary. It was a night like any other night, cold and unfeeling. The moonlight bore down on empty roofs, and revealed no secrets to Kleon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is as good a time as any to inform everyone that yes, we'll be bringing in some First Blade DLC content in the later half of this beast of a project. (And yeah, I think it's going to count as a fix-it fic sooner or later.)


	19. Shadowplay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You have your own perspective on the matter. Your own thoughts. Honour them. Do not run.”

_ Tonight, of all nights, Athens is especially cold. There’s a chill in the wind that reaches into my bones. The theatre’s stands are empty, and so are the streets. In fact, there seems to be no one else in Athens—not even the light of a torch could be seen from where I’m standing. _

_ But there’s someone on stage. A lone shadow, beckoning to me. His laugh echoes like we’re in a cavern, but the stars are out and so is the moon and we’re exposed to the world. _

_ What world? There’s no one here. _

_ I descend the steps, fingering the hilt of the dagger Aspasia had given to me so long ago. When I get closer to the stage, the shadows flee from his face and he is smiling—teeth bared, charming stubble, and bright blue eyes. The smile is sharp, and it cuts straight into me. I suddenly feel sick, and slow to a halt before the stage. _

_ “Hello, Kassandra.” His voice shimmers, like it’s not really there. Like I’m remembering. “Have you thought about what I said?” _

_ “I don’t…” I look up the stage, into his young face. “I don’t remember.” _

_ “Liar.” Something about the way he says it makes me shiver. He takes three graceful steps and leaps off the stage. “You just don’t want to admit it.” _

_ “Admit what?” _

_ “The truth. The one buried in your heart.” Nicodemus looks me up and down, sizing me up. “You’ve come a long way since Phoibe. Sweet little Phoibe. She barely spread her wings to fly.” _

_ Anger returns to me like an old memory, and I draw my blade on him. Moonlight bounces off the polished steel. _

_ “Don’t you dare speak her name,” I warn, though my voice is thin. Weak. Somehow I know that I’m powerless here, but I keep the dagger pointed at him. _

_ Where are all the _ fucking _ people? _

_ Nicodemus tilts his head, and pity flashes across his features. “Look at you, wounded little eagle. How long more before you stop to think? How long before you realise you’re pointing this at the wrong person?” _

_ I take one step forward, and press the blade against his throat. He swallows, and then laughs, quivering against my weapon. _

_ “I see it now,” he says, soft, “I know why she chose you.” _

_ I add a little more pressure, and a red line stretches itself across his skin. He gasps and clutches at my wrist, but it’s not so he can push me away. He’s pulling me close, closer, until we’re nose to nose and a river of blood is raining down his chest. _

_ “You would do anything for her,” Nicodemus croons, “Don’t you see? Don’t you remember?” _

_ He leans forward, chuckling softly. I can barely summon the strength to speak, let alone find the words. Everything feels wrong. The air is thrumming with awful energy. I’m suddenly gripped by nausea, and I try to pull away—but he holds me firmly in place. _

_ “Love cannot undo the worst of us or the dark things we have done.” _

_ His breath smells like rotting flesh. I struggle against his steel grip—when did he become so strong?—but it’s no use. He leans into the curve of my blade, throat tearing open, and laughs that same laugh again. _

_ “Don’t... make me say it again.” He coughs, blood spraying everywhere. “I hate… I really hate repeating myself.” _

_ Then he collapses, jerking and writhing all over the ground, his blood seeping into the stone. I watch him until he dies again, until he’s no longer laughing, and then I fall to my knees. _

*

Kassandra stirred awake at her mother’s voice. It seemed to reach her from across a great rift, sleep still very much fogging her mind. But she held out a hand anyway, cracking open an eye to a wide canvas of sky stretching over her. And Myrrine was there, squeezing her daughter’s hand gently as she pushed herself into a sitting position. The _ Adrestia _was still on the move, wood groaning mightily as the rowers hustled down below.

All it took was a strong wave to lurch the _ Adrestia _forward, along with its commander. Kassandra was up on her feet in an instant, crossing the quarter deck to vomit heavily over the railing. The force of it left her winded and bent over. Footsteps shuffled quickly behind her.

Myrrine rubbed slow, soothing circles on her back. Kassandra drew back, unsteady, and tried to shut Nicodemus’ face from her mind. The nightmare clung to her like the sweat on her face, and not even the ocean breeze could help to chase the sickening feeling away.

“You were talking in your sleep,” Myrrine said softly, coming to her side. Kassandra braced herself against the rail with one hand, and lifted the other to wipe her brow.

“Oh, is that all?” Kassandra smiled without any real meaning behind it. 

“Names, lamb.” Myrrine reached up to brush strands of hair away from her eyes, and tucked them behind her ear. “You were calling out for someone named Phoibe.”

Kassandra took a deep, steadying breath through the nose, eyes closing briefly. “Right. She was… a friend. From Kephallonia. Who followed me to Athens.” She grimaced. “And then she died.”

Myrrine looked at her for a long moment, before pulling her in for a tight hug. Kassandra slumped against her mother, dragging her arms slowly around the older woman’s waist. She could still hear Phoibe’s laugh, echoing off the walls of her mind like a ghost that wouldn’t depart.

“I’m sorry to hear that, lamb.”

“Don’t be. I dealt with the man responsible.”

Instinctively, Myrrine tightened her embrace. “And was that enough?”

Kassandra drew back, and saw the concern drawn across her mother’s visage. She took another deep breath. “It has to be.”

Out across the deck, crew members milled back and forth in an attempt to dry up the deck and return it to its original, pristine state before the battle with Silanos. It had rained, too, after they departed from Naxos, and the weather brought no small amount of distress to Barnabas, who immediately cracked down on clean up duty once it was safe to do so.

He was now pointing and gesturing feverishly at a spot a poor young sailor had missed; Herodotos stepped forward to divert his attention, a weary yet amused look on his face, and shot the sailor a furtive smile as he physically turned Barnabas away. The young man scurried away gratefully.

There were no shanties or bawdy songs today, then. There was a strange air about the deck, and Kassandra realised her men were, in all likelihood, exhausted. 

Myrrine was saying something again.

“What?” Kassandra asked, snapping her attention back to her mother.

The older Spartan woman reached to clasp her daughter’s hand between hers. “I was saying that you could talk to me, if you wanted. I worry for you, Kassandra.”

Kassandra worked up another smile, but her attempt at reassurance seemed to fall flat.

“It’s been a long few days,” she said without pretense. “I don’t know what else to say apart from that.”

Myrrine regarded her thoughtfully. “Is it about Aspasia?”

Kassandra’s heart jolted with a distant ache. She turned away, casting her gaze on the thrashing, moving water instead.

“No.” Kassandra hoped the partial lie wouldn’t reveal itself in her clipped answer. 

In truth, it was more than Aspasia. It was Nicodemus, it was Kosmos, it was the darkness skittering out from the ground, from every little crack she found.

But there was no deceiving Myrrine, even after decades apart. A mother’s intuition trumped everything, it seemed. Kassandra dared to think it would have easily overshadowed any kind of prophecy from the Pythia, so observant and intelligent was her mother. 

“I don’t claim to understand what’s between you both,” Myrrine said, gentle, “But trust your heart, Kassandra. No matter what.”

“How could you say that now?” Kassandra frowned, still watching the waves. “You made your suspicions clear to me on Naxos.”

“All a mother can do is express her best interests for a daughter.” A beat passed. “You have your own perspective on the matter. Your own thoughts. Honour them. Do not run.”

Kassandra turned to her mother. “Would _ you_, if you were me?”

Her mother smiled, bright and blazing, despite the wistful note in her voice. “I trusted my heart that Alexios was alive. I should have trusted it to the very end, in Argolis.”

The Eagle Bearer winced, slightly. The memory of Chrysis and her gods-damned insanity was still fresh in her mind. Kassandra could still smell the fumes and smoke that choked her, deep in her lungs, as she reached for the innocent baby in that blasted temple.

“You couldn’t have known,” Kassandra crossed over to her mother’s side, and they both settled on the bench. “No one could have.”

“And yet there was this nagging feeling inside me, even years after I left Argolis and found myself in Korinth.” Myrrine’s voice trembled. “I think I always knew the both of you were out there. I just couldn’t explain how.”

Kassandra stretched out an arm and felt Myrrine shuffle close. She held her mother for a long time, feeling some of her old strength return to her.

“You were right.” Kassandra planted a kiss on the crown of Myrrine’s head. “In the end, you were right.”

Her mother laughed softly. The sound was carried away by the waves. Kassandra thought of simpler days, racing through the forests of Lakonia in the early hours of dawn. The same sunrise every morning at the summit of Taygetos, cleansing Sparta in royal fire. It had warmed her back then, with Leonidas’ spear in her hand, and Kassandra remembered dangling her legs off the cliff as she sat there for hours, greeting each day anew until it was time to get back to training.

She had believed with all her heart, then, that nothing could ever take her from that life.

“Don’t be afraid,” came Myrrine’s voice, dispelling her reverie. “Not of the future, and not of the past. We don’t dwell on anything but the present, and what we can do with it.”

Kassandra listened to her mother’s words intently, and looked back out to sea. “It’s difficult,” she said, “To tell whether I’m right or wrong.”

“If you’re wrong, then you’re wrong.”

Kassandra huffed. “And what? All is forgiven, and we get on with our lives?”

“We adapt, Kassandra.” Myrrine was wearing an expectant look now, the same look that followed Kassandra through all the days of her training. “We roll with the punches. We never stay down for more than five seconds. We _ live_.”

At that moment, Barnabas’ voice reached them from the main deck. He was beaming from ear to ear, grey hair rippling in the wind as he pointed excitedly out to sea. Any concluding thoughts Kassandra might have had about the woman she longed for scattered in the wind as she laid her eyes on what Barnabas had spotted.

“Sparta approaches!”

*

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

Brasidas pulled Kassandra into a crushing hug, the years of hardened Spartan training showing themselves in the next agonising few seconds. When she resurfaced, grateful for the ability to breathe, she slapped his arm companionably. 

“Were you waiting for us?” she asked, spirits lifting at the sight of the Spartan. “Don’t play coy. You can be honest with me.”

“I recognised the sails and knew immediately that it was you.” Brasidas grinned, and the weary lines on his face diminished, if only for a while. He turned his attention to Myrrine, now, and took her hand in a respectful gesture. “Myrrine of Sparta. So you live, after all.”

“It will take more than a wayward journey to kill me,” Myrrine replied smoothly.

“Spartans are tough that way,” Brasidas said appreciatively, looking from mother to daughter. “But you might not want to rest on your laurels yet, if you’re here for your citizenship.”

“We’re here to unmask a cultist, Brasidas.” Kassandra crossed her arms. “One of the Spartan kings, based on what we’ve uncovered so far.”

“That’s bold, even for you,” he muttered, turning grim. “And you have proof?”

“Not yet.” Kassandra looked to her mother, briefly. Myrrine answered her with a nod. _ Go on. _ “But we intend to dig it out and expose him, whichever one it is.”

“Well.” Brasidas’ expression faltered for a moment, and then he beckoned for mother and daughter to follow as he started down the docks. “That is quite the endeavour you’re laying on me, both of you.”

Kassandra threw one final wave at Barnabas and Herodotos before catching up with her mother and Brasidas. Together, they cut a path through the docks and fishing village, and old, distant memories flashed in Kassandra’s mind like lightning.

She had come here in the middle of a thunderstorm, once. She had come here to run. And then the Aegean swept her away in a rickety boat, where she had nothing to cling onto but a broken spear - 

“Kassandra?”

They were at the top of the path now, and the inner city walls stood stark against the backdrop of a thick forest filled with yellows, reds, and greens. The leaves swayed in the wind, almost welcoming. Here, she could barely hear the ocean.

“Sorry.” She caught up again, shaking off a strange new feeling that had clung to her on her way up. 

“It must be a lot to take in after all these years,” Brasidas offered, kind. “I was explaining the situation to Myrrine about your home.”

_ Home. _ It was a foreign word to Kassandra. Home was Kephallonia. It was the sun bearing down on her and Phoibe as they navigated Markos’ sprawling vineyard, stealing grapes and putting a dent in his new business endeavour. It was the _ Adrestia_, going from one end of the Aegean to the other, and Barnabas guiding the crew in a lewd sea shanty he’d just crafted out of thin air.

Home was Phoibe, relentlessly clinging to her side the night she left the symposium. It was Aspasia, dark eyes from across a dark room. It was her mouth, her hands, the last thing they ever said to each other on Naxos. _ Live for me, and no one else. _

Home was... many things. The Eagle Bearer just hadn’t considered what home _ used _to be.

“What about it?” she asked.

“The home is technically under Stentor’s ownership, now that Nikolaos is missing. If you want it back, you’ll have to appeal to the kings themselves.” 

Kassandra bristled at the mention of Nikolaos. The man had fled, his honour and dignity ripped to shreds. And yet even in his absence, more problems were arising.

They continued walking again, and this time Kassandra found herself at the head of the party. In the air, there was an unmistakable familiarity to it. The Spartan guard, marching through the plaza. The smell of home-cooked dinner on the wind. Children sparring with each other on the streets, wooden swords and spears flailing about as they mustered their best attempts at fearsome battle cries. 

A young girl, no older than Phoibe, chose this moment to push past Kassandra in a concerted effort up the path, shouting after her friends. She watched the girl shrink and disappear around a corner, and felt a keen sense of loss taking hold of her. 

The last of their journey only took ten minutes, and suddenly she was looking at the front yard where Nikolaos had spent long afternoons teaching Kassandra her drills. The whole house looked untouched, even the soil where they stood. Old, forgotten memories thrust themselves at her again.

She took tentative steps forward, as though afraid of disturbing something that had been buried here beneath the soil.

Kassandra touched a hand to the door. It came away with a layer of dust. Behind it lived years of a life gone by. A life she could no longer hope to live again. Her hand quivered, and she quickly let it fall to her side.

“We should seek out Archidamos and Pausanias.” Myrrine was speaking to Brasidas, but Kassandra heard her loud and clear.

“King Archidamos will probably fall out of his seat,” Brasidas chuckled, “I hear he hasn’t forgotten the nose incident.”

“If it’s any consolation, neither have I. Though I’m sure we both have different perspectives on the matter.”

Kassandra turned to address them both, but her words never came. Instead, her eyes lifted skyward, to the looming mountain that dwarfed the western Spartan region. 

That’s when she saw him.

Perched on the cliff face, where the rock jutted out far enough to form a safe landing, was Deimos. Even from such a great distance, there was no denying the bright glint of his armour and the posture of his stance. 

He was _ waiting_.

“Lamb?” Myrrine approached her, a hand outstretched. “Is something the matter?”

Kassandra worked her jaw before finally finding her words. “I have to do something. I’ll be right back.”

“Where-” Brasidas raised his hands as she brushed past him in a hurry. “Alright, then. Just…” He exchanged glances with Myrrine, confused as she was. “We’ll wait for you outside the kings’ temple tomorrow, Eagle Bearer! First thing in the morning!”

Kassandra broke into a run, and darted out of sight. The forest seemed all too eager to swallow her whole.

*

He was crouched at the spot where they had both fallen, that night from so long ago. Deimos idly picked at loose rocks and pebbles there and kept himself busy, even as he heard the unmistakable sound of someone approaching, hard soil crunching beneath heavy footsteps. He heard the slight wind of her panting that told him she had rushed to be here.

“Deimos.”

“Eagle Bearer.” Deimos rose to his feet, slow. When he turned, his arms were raised in mock invitation. “What, no hug for your brother?”

Kassandra’s expression was guarded, and her stance on the defensive. Behind him, the sky was halfway in transition to nightfall, and the sun had hidden itself behind thick clouds. Yet Kassandra could still perceive the small grin on his face, even in the fading light.

“What are you doing here?”

“Straight to business.” Deimos lowered his arms. “Very well. I’ve come to kill you.”

“Really. You couldn’t have tried to be a little subtle about it, instead of announcing your presence while hanging off a rock face?”

He found it in himself to smile. It was not a pleasant sight. “It was easier than sneaking around. You came, didn’t you?”

“And now what?” Kassandra gestured at the air between them. “We just fight to the death, at the place where we were both thrown off?”

Deimos’ expression flickered, a sudden disruption to his focus. “You were thrown off as well?”

She grimaced at the dark memory as well as the thought that Alexios had been lied to and kept in the dark by his cruel captors. 

“Looks like the Cult didn’t tell you everything, then.”

Her brother hissed, a feral sound, and he kicked at the ground where he stood. Loose rocks hurtled through the air and sailed past Kassandra. It was the display of a child, she thought absently. He likely knew no more than she did, at this point.

“They hide their secrets,” Deimos growled, more to himself than to his sister, “But not for long.”

Kassandra sensed her opportunity, and stepped forward to take it. “They’ve lied to you about many things, Alexios.”

He swept his hand out in an arc warningly. “You don’t know the first thing. Don’t pretend to be on my side, _ sister_. Like I said, I came here to kill you.”

“Then why haven’t you tried it yet?” Kassandra turned her palms skyward. “There’s something else, isn’t there? You’re in trouble,” she added quietly.

Deimos drew back warily, but did not look away. It was confirmation enough for Kassandra. A long shadow stretched itself over Lakonia, over Taygetos, and over them both.

“Kosmos has splintered, weak at its foundations,” Deimos finally said. “And Persia is on our heels. They trade coin and secrets, they think I don’t know any better,” he began to pace back and forth like a caged beast, “And they plot in the shadows without my knowledge.”

Kassandra shook her head, not understanding. It was too much information, all at once. _ Persia? Plot? Infighting within Kosmos? _

“Are you saying they’ll betray you?”

“They’ll kill me.” Deimos’ eyes flashed, but it wasn’t fear she saw in them. It was unbridled rage. “Or they’ll die trying.” He continued his pacing, his strides wider now. “The Greek world was meant to be mine. But they’ll sooner hand it to the Persians. The _ audacity_,” he snarled. 

“And you came to me for help? Why don’t you tell me who they are?” Her voice shook under the weight of desperation, and a looming sense of doom. “We could end this, Alexios. _Together_.”

The very idea seemed to offend every fibre of his being, judging by the way he bristled at her words.

“I don’t trust you, and I am _ not _on your side,” he snapped. “But for now, we are after the same target. Maybe I won’t kill you yet. Maybe,” he licked his lips, “that will come after the Spartan king’s demise.”

Why couldn’t he just _ listen _ to her? Kassandra felt as though she had been struck by the force of his declaration. His intent to _murder_. _ Some family matter _this_ is. _

“Alexios…”

But Deimos’ mind was far away, and he didn’t stir at her call. He looked lost for a moment, before meeting her gaze again with a new light in them. Recognition. Excitement. His stare left her cold and unsettled, and she couldn’t help but feel as though he had seen something in her that she was supposed to hide and protect.

“I think I understand. She meant to use you this way.” 

Deimos barked in laughter, shrill and broken. Kassandra felt a sinking feeling in her stomach, and her mind raced to piece together the shreds of information he was giving up, one by one. 

“Who are you talking about?” Kassandra stepped forward. “Her _ name_, Alexios.”

Deimos looked to Lakonia, peering over the edge of Taygetos as though trying to get a better look at something. He did not bother to answer her question, and only said, “Let’s see who will get to our traitor king, first. You or me.”

Kassandra shook her head in an attempt to silence the overlapping thoughts that were kicking up a storm in her mind. She was nearly breathless as she said, “Is this what you’ve come to? Turning on your own men? Don’t you see that there’s no future with Kosmos now?”

Deimos growled at her insinuation. “He is a traitor to _ my _ cause,” he said darkly, “To all of the Greek world, the one thing that’s been promised to _ me_. And as it stands, you’re at the center of it all. So you have no choice.”

Kassandra could not keep the tremors from her voice. “We all have a choice.”

He turned his back to her, his silhouette stark against the full moon that had risen. He was a faceless shadow now, unknowable and ominous. And then he shook his head.

“That’s ironic, coming from you.” 

Every word made a clean incision against her psyche. Kassandra couldn’t even begin to ask, to press for answers that every so often reared their heads before her in the dark. They were always out of reach, the same way Alexios remained out of range of her grasp.

She had nothing to say, she realised bitterly as she watched him turn to leave. She could not find it in herself to stop him. Then Deimos made the mistake of sparing her one final glance. 

Even in the dark, Kassandra could have sworn she saw herself in his tormented gaze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES, A DOUBLE UPDATE! I wrote the interlude and this update one after the other. If the scene with Deimos and Kassandra sounds clipped and a little haphazard, please know that I meant for it to happen like that. I don't really think Deimos is in the mood for proper conversation, after realising he's well and truly fucked from all directions.
> 
> Next up: Heavy duty Spartan assignments, and a conversation in Korinth.


	20. The Art of Taking Chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How will this game end for you? Have you ever thought about it?”

Kassandra’s first thought was that Archidamos’ nose wasn’t that crooked, and so he had no real reason to be fuming at her mother the way he was. There was an indignant look about the older king, shoulders forward and brow creased in a perpetual scowl, as he paced before his throne and Pausanias’. His shadow was a long, drawn out thing, three times larger than the man himself, and ghosted along the walls as Archidamos continued his broody prowling.

“You exiled yourself, Myrrine. And your daughter killed an elder before she, too, ran from Sparta.” He fixed a hard gaze on Kassandra, disapproving.

Myrrine was at her defense in an instant. She took a step forward, crossing an invisible line Archidamos had drawn. The king bristled, made a chortling noise, and came to a halt.

“My family was betrayed, my king.” Myrrine stood unflinching before him, head held high. “_Sparta _was betrayed. And we intend to unmask the traitor among us.”

“You must take me for a fool. Even if Leonidas’ blood runs in your veins, you haven’t cared for Sparta in _ years._”

The accusation ran deep, and Kassandra’s hands shook. She was speaking before she could stop herself, an undercurrent of rage carrying her words forth.

“Your _ elders _had both her children thrown off a cliff!” Kassandra lifted her chin, defiant, as Archidamos glared in her direction. “They tore our family apart like wolves!”

“Kassandra! Not here,” Myrrine stepped in front of her, looking over her shoulder. 

But the Eagle Bearer went on as though her mother hadn’t just warned her to be quiet. The dark, simmering ocean inside her was thrashing and mounting against the walls of her chest. “Yet the minute she knew Sparta was in danger, she left _ everything _ she knew to come back. Your accusation means _ nothing._”

Behind Archidamos, Pausanias looked on with growing interest, even as he settled back into his throne. Briefly, his gaze landed on Kassandra before it drew away, back to Myrrine.

The older king seemed to forget Myrrine for a moment and rounded on her. The fire in his eyes receded just a fraction as he regarded the Eagle Bearer. The air in the hall was thick with something that made it hard to breathe. The walls could very well have been closing on all of them in that singular moment.

Fire crackled sharply in the silence.

“You are Leonidas’ grandchild, without a doubt.” Archidamos clasped his hands behind his back and exhaled loudly. “Well then, speak. I know Myrrine’s intentions. I would know yours as well, Eagle Bearer.”

Pausanias’ gaze returned to settle over Kassandra. This time, he did not look away.

“I’m hunting the ones who betrayed my family _ and _ Sparta. And after I find them,” her hands curled into fists, “I _ will _kill them.”

Archidamos stepped forward, easily towering over Myrrine. King and mercenary looked each other in the eye. Neither one showed signs of backing down. Somewhere behind her, Brasidas coughed lightly and shuffled awkwardly where he stood.

“And who exactly do you believe betrayed Sparta?” asked the king, unblinking.

For a final time, Kassandra caught the strange curiosity deep in Pausanias’ eyes. The young king’s lips were slightly parted, mystified by something yet unknown.

She drew her attention back to Archidamos at last.

“That’s what I intend to find out.”

And Pausanias drew himself to his feet, luxurious robes rippling like a river as he walked. He brushed past Archidamos to stand before Myrrine and her daughter. Despite his age, he carried himself impeccably even beside Archidamos, who looked every bit the battle-weary warrior king he was.

His temperament was mild, too. And yet, Kassandra had seen him fight Archidamos earlier on. The man hadn’t _ really _lost his footing. There had been such a hungry light to his eyes during the sparring session. He was no mere prey to be subdued by the sharp end of a spear. 

And then he had yielded, all too quickly, and let Archidamos have his way.

Now it was Kassandra’s turn to watch the younger king with interest.

“So,” he began, with not a single crease in his voice, “Prove yourself to us and win back your home.”

“Yes.” Archidamos nodded. “By my decree, present yourself to the Spartans in Boeotia, on Mount Helicon. Return victorious, or not at all.”

“Just war, then?”

“Not so fast.” Pausanias’ lips drew into a smile, cat-like. “I would like for you to escort our champion to the Olympics.”

Kassandra crossed her arms, frowning. “You want me to _ what_.”

“An escort, Eagle Bearer.” The younger king’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “In Elis, I would like Sparta to emerge as champion. You can do that, can’t you?”

Archidamos scoffed, turning to Pausanias. “And how significant can such fleeting glory be to Sparta? One event is meaningless.”

“Not just one event. The entire Olympics.”

Kassandra exchanged a glance with Myrrine, who looked just as surprised as she was. Pausanias chuckled softly and turned away to return to his seat.

“Well then, you have your orders.” He settled back down and stretched his arms over the throne’s armrests. “Let’s see how far you will go to come home.”

*

“They’re fucking with me, aren’t they?”

Brasidas rubbed a hand over his face. “No, they’re not. At least King Archidamos isn’t. King Pausanias, on the other hand…” He trailed off, contemplative for a moment. Then he met her gaze. “Well? Will you do it anyway?”

“I don’t think I have a choice in the matter.”

“That’s the spirit,” he grinned at her. 

They were moving away from the kings’ temple at a leisurely pace. Brasidas and Myrrine flanked Kassandra on either side, and together they descended the slope back down to where Brasidas lived. He’d offered them room for the time being, though not without hinting to Kassandra that she was, once again, about to be in his debt.

“Dream on,” she had said. “We both know who saved who in that warehouse.”

“Denial is a bad look on you,” he’d fired back, full of cheer.

And then they laughed, boisterous and liberated, shoving at each other like children in summertime. Myrrine could only watch on with exasperated amusement, hands on her hips.

“At least this means Boeotia will belong to Sparta soon.”

Kassandra rolled her eyes, though she was grinning back at him now. “If they can’t win _ one _ battle, what makes you think _ I _can?”

“Come off it, Eagle Bearer. No one here will dispute your talent for killing. Sometimes you make a good show out of it.”

“Hmm.” Myrrine regarded her daughter thoughtfully. “He’s right, you know.”

Kassandra shook her head and laughed. The sound of it was hollow to her own ears, the same way Brasidas’ compliment had fallen flat. Her hands quivered, and she immediately crossed her arms.

“Actually, Ikaros does most of the work. _ He’s _ the real _ misthios_. You heard it here first.”

Brasidas glanced at Myrrine. “Your daughter has a talent for comedy, too. Who knew?”

*

After insisting for the hundredth time that Myrrine should simply rest and wait for their return, Brasidas offered to walk Kassandra down to the _ dromos _ to find their future Olympic champion. She caught sight of it long before they arrived; Herakles gleamed handsomely in the afternoon sun, guarding the racetrack with his sword held high.

Brasidas kept pace with her easily. It took Kassandra a while to notice his lingering stare and the way his eyes were prying at her with a question that hadn’t even come yet. 

“What,” she said, chin jerking slightly.

“You’re alright, then?” he asked, direct. “I didn’t want to say this in front of your mother, but you look like _shit_.”

“Thanks, Brasidas. With that level of charm, women must throw themselves at your feet every day.”

“Spartan education has its limitations. And stop dodging my question like a wimp.”

Kassandra let out a long sigh. They were almost to the _ dromos _now. She briefly considered just darting off the path and cutting through the trees for a quick exit, but there would be no escaping Brasidas. At least, not for a while. 

That, and she trusted him as a friend. He didn't give her a reason to think otherwise yet.

She watched the path as they walked, kicking up dust and rocks beneath their sandals. It was difficult to have this conversation and to also look someone in the eye while doing so.

“Does it ever get to you?” she asked, flat. “Killing so many people. Over and over again.”

“That _ cannot _ be what’s causing this misery. Did you just become a _ misthios _yesterday?” He cocked his head at her.

“Actually, I’m being serious.”

They walked in silence a little bit further. For a moment there was only the sound of dirt crunching under their steps and the soft hum of the wind in the air.

“Look,” Brasidas began, “I do think about what life would be like if we weren’t bleeding ourselves dry for this war. After a while, the taste of blood becomes less and less… _ disturbing_, maybe. And then you get used to the way a body breaks when you run a spear through it. How it feels when flesh tears, or when a bone breaks under your foot.” He sucked in a breath, sharp. “Of course I don’t enjoy it. You know how our elders tell us that Spartans live and breathe war, like they can’t get enough of it?”

Kassandra looked at him at last. There was genuine empathy in his brown eyes.

“Sometimes I think I’ve had enough of it too. Especially when the fucking nightmares hit.” He attempted a smile. “But I always come back to the start, Kassandra.”

“And what’s that for you? The start?”

Brasidas looked far into the distance where Herakles awaited them. “I remember what I’m fighting for. _ Who _I’m fighting for.”

Kassandra followed his line of sight. “I don’t even know who I can trust, much less who to fight for. I never know enough to be able to tell.” 

“Bullshit,” he snorted with a laugh. “You’re the sharpest arrow around. Even Anthousa couldn’t convince you from what was right. You knew the Monger had to be dealt with in private.”

“That’s not even the same thing,” Kassandra moaned.

“You’ve survived this long,” Brasidas turned an appreciative look to her now, “That counts for something. Why are you so terrified of fucking things up? Who is it?” His mouth pulled into a cheeky grin. “There’s a woman, isn’t there? This isn’t really about _ fighting_.”

“It’s about _ fighting_,” Kassandra bit back.

“Yeah, okay.” Brasidas chuckled. “Don’t overthink it. If you haven’t noticed by now, you draw people to you just by standing around. And everyone sees the same thing.”

“Let me guess. That I look like shit.”

His cocksure grin softened into something more genuine. It was warm. Kassandra hadn’t ever been sure he was capable of such gentleness until now. 

“That you’re worth following. To the ends of the earth.”

Kassandra suddenly started to blink rapidly, and turned away. 

“Brasidas…"

“Don’t overthink it. Whoever she is, she probably sees it too.”

She sniffed, and absently watched a group of young Spartan boys making their sacrifices and offerings at the feet of Herakles. Beyond, Spartans-in-training were testing their mettle on the racetrack and zipped back and forth at the encouraging shouts of their trainers. 

Her hands stopped their quivering. 

“Maybe you _ do _know how to talk to women after all.”

“Hey. Fuck you.”

*

Kassandra hadn’t believed it for a second, but the man really _ was _called Testikles. He lumbered towards her with a wide, goofy grin and scooped her up into a sweaty, suffocating hug.

“You even brought my favourite oil,” he sniffed, clearly drunk out of his mind. “What did I ever do to deserve you, Pigeon Bearer?”

Kassandra pushed against his chest and wriggled loose from his embrace. She was disgusted to find that she came away with sweat on her skin. 

“_Eagle _Bearer,” she corrected. “Or just, you know, call me Kassandra. I beg you.”

Her stalwart, future Olympic champion beamed down at her. He was still swaying unsteadily on his feet. The sun had only just arrived at the height of its arc, reminding Kassandra that this man had little to no discipline if he was already this hopelessly inebriated. 

Around them, the waves crashed gently against the rocks. Ikaros lazily circled over their heads, most likely wondering what the _ hell _his owner was doing, trying to convince a drunken man that he could actually win the Olympics for Sparta.

“Okay Kassandra.” Testikles nodded, and made grabby gestures at her with his big hands. “Can I… uh… have my oil now?”

The Eagle Bearer drew back a step. “No.” Her eyes narrowed. Was he actually about to cry? “I’ll give you your oil when we get to Elis. How about that?”

Testikles rubbed a hand over his face vigorously. His eyes were wide with hope when he looked at her again. “You promise? The moment we dock?”

Kassandra looked over her shoulder at the _ Adrestia _and saw Barnabas and Herodotos leaning against the rails, tipping their heads back in what was probably laughter.

“Yes, Testikles,” she said, exasperated, “The moment we dock.”

They could not have arrived at Elis sooner.

*

Well. Maybe not.

_ I regret everything_, she thought bitterly as she stared into the pristine waters that lapped at Elis’ dock. Well, _ previously _pristine. Testikles’ blood spread across the water and mingled with it as the shark went on its way after a particularly surprising treat for lunch. Behind her, Alkibiades was tutting softly.

“What an _ interesting _turn of events.”

She rose from her crouch and turned to meet him with as convincing a smile as she could muster. He shook his head, eyelashes fluttering suggestively, and took her by the arm.

“Now, now. Consider this a blessing from the gods,” he said, guiding her out of the port and further into Elis. “Now I get to see _you _all _sweaty _and furious, fighting for Sparta’s victory as its champion.”

“I think only one of us is feeling blessed at the moment, Alkibiades.”

“Ooh, that _ hurts_.” He pouted at her. “I’ve missed you so. Athens is nothing without you.”

Against her will, Kassandra felt her cheeks warm. There was a note in his voice that told her he meant it, and she looked into his smiling face.

“I suppose I’ve missed you too,” she said. 

The Athenian wriggled with delight, and hooked his arm around hers as he guided her to the nearest available horses.

Elis was a land sprawled with swamps and forests, all laid before Kassandra in a path that led straight to the Sanctuary of Olympia. The mountain of Kronion was only a mere speck, peeking out from behind thick greens, and its size signaled a long ride ahead of Kassandra and her old friend. The Valley of Olympia was more than just a stone’s throw away, for now.

Kassandra found herself longing for the ride.

“How is dear Aspasia, hmm?”

The question came out of nowhere. Kassandra nearly stumbled over herself, and held onto Alkibiades to maintain balance. He delighted in it excessively.

“She’s… doing alright. I think.” Kassandra swallowed. “She should be in Korinth by now.”

“To see Anthousa, no doubt.” Alkibiades laughed melodiously. “I actually assumed she would remain by your side, if I’m being honest.”

“She’s got stuff to do.” Kassandra blew out a puff of air. “So do I.”

Alkibiades leaned over to get her attention, eyes narrowed with intrigue. “Trouble in paradise?”

“Not at all.”

“Oh, I beg you, spare me the intimate details.”

She patted the arm that was locked around hers. “Nice try, old friend.”

*

It was going to be a long day in the Sanctuary.

Erastos groaned and clutched at his stomach, crumpled on the ground before her. Half his face was caked in dust. Around them, the arena went wild as the audience leapt to their feet, cheering and roaring for the Eagle Bearer. Kassandra tried not to think of the last time a crowd had surged in the stands because of her, and pushed the sudden memory of Nicodemus from her mind.

She was beginning to feel the strain in her body, in six different places. Testikles, for all his lumbering stupidity, had indeed been made for the pankration. He had been a giant of a man, after all. Kassandra was just tired.

“Unprecedented!” the announcer bellowed from the stands. “It would seem our reigning champion, Dorieus, will be facing off with our beloved newcomer!”

Kassandra turned away as the crowd rippled with excitement, their cries peaking shrill into the air. She departed without waiting for the crowd’s dismissal, and after dressing herself she found her way to a quieter part of the Sanctuary, where no one was around to hound her for a conversation.

“That was impressive. Your adoring crowd awaits.”

She turned to look over her shoulder to see the face of the Olympic judge, Kallias, grinning down at her. She stopped in her tracks. 

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m not really interested in meeting the people.”

“They can be exhausting, I’m sure.” Kallias gestured to their surroundings. “Yet you cannot deny the charm of the Olympics. How it brings all sorts here, under the unifying banner of Elis. Athens or Sparta, it matters not. What do you say, _ Eagle Bearer_?”

Something about the way he said it made her skin crawl.

“It’s magnificent,” she admitted warily. “You don’t ever feel the war here.”

“Indeed. No prying eyes, no dagger in the dark.” Kallias’ tongue darted out quickly from between thin lips. “Will you join me for dinner, after all is said and done? I have quite a bit of drachmae put forward in favour of your victory.”

Kassandra disciplined her expression, remaining neutral. “I might take you up on that offer. If nothing else distracts me. I’m in a hurry, after all.”

“No doubt, to do your duty.” Kallias inclined his head in a respectful nod. “Eagle Bearer.”

“Kallias.”

He retreated out of sight, leaving Kassandra to her thoughts.

*

Barnabas collected her, near the Temple of Zeus. Alkibiades wasn’t far behind, but looked to be struggling with even the simplest step forward.

“What’s gotten into you?” Kassandra asked, moving to his side. 

Alkibiades waved a hand, and when he lifted his face she saw that he was sickly pale. “Too much fun, I believe.” He smiled, lopsided. “You were very riveting to watch, my dear.”

She exchanged a confused glance with Barnabas, who merely shrugged.

“You look terrible.”

“I _ feel _terrible. Quite observant, sweetling--” He brought a hand to his chest, heaving violently, and coughed with such force that he collapsed into Kassandra. She caught him with both arms, steadying him as his entire form shook, and looked to Barnabas again.

“Where was he before this? What happened?”

Alkibiades gasped weakly, head against her shoulder. “I can… answer that. _ Oh. _I was with Demophanes and Kallias,” he groaned, “Having a bit of fun and wine, is all.”

“Cheap wine, probably,” muttered Barnabas. Alkibiades managed a glare, despite himself.

“I really don’t think shit wine could do _ this._” Kassandra helped him as he began to take small steps forward. “You look like you’ve been poisoned.”

“Poisoned!” Alkibiades clung to her. “Never. The judges are good men, Kassandra--”

“Why would they do that?” Barnabas lowered his voice into a hiss.

“I don’t know, but Alkibiades is not just some Athenian. He’s--” _ A statesman. Perikles’ nephew. _The answers came rushing for her, all at once.

_ He was drinking--with Kallias? _

Kallias’ voice slithered to the front of her mind. _ No prying eyes, no dagger in the dark. _He had looked so smug then, too.

A chill touched her, slow.

Kassandra jerked her head at Barnabas, and he took over immediately. She looked into the distance, where the Leonidaion sat waiting--with answers, no doubt. 

“I’ll find out who did this.”

She raced to the guesthouse despite the aching in her body. And what greeted her was not an answer--at least, not a clear cut one. The entire place had been trashed and flipped over, and the gruesome sight of dead bodies overpowered her exhaustion. Her back straightened as she became alert once more, stepping gingerly over dead men and women.

There were signs of violence everywhere. Blood pooled at her feet wherever she stepped, mingled with the wet stains of wine on the carpet. Urns had been smashed across the floor, littering the carpet with tiny little fragments.

She checked the kitchen, first. The food didn’t smell out of the ordinary. She crossed the dark hall and checked every corner, trying to ignore the looming, foreboding feeling at her heel. She finally caught a whiff of something foul, something _ sour _in the wine when she passed the jugs in the larder. Not cheap wine, then. 

_ No daggers in the dark, Kallias? You’re too arrogant. _

She reached for the scrap of papyrus sitting amongst the clutter. The supplier’s name jumped out at her. It was her only lead, and she was running out of time.

That’s when she heard him whimper.

She followed the noise out the back door to the stables. And there he was, hunched over and shaking. She took two large steps towards him before a shadow moved into her path. The cruel face of Kosmos greeted her, and she drew her dagger.

“Stay still, little eagle,” he breathed, and lunged for her.

There was that name again. Kassandra shifted her weight from one foot to the other to get out of his way. It was hard not to feel like she was being laughed at, even though it was closer to the truth that he was trying to simply get under her skin and catch her off guard long enough to stab her through the chest.

No such luck.

The quivering man shrieked as she found the cultist’s left flank open and rewarded his mistake with a clean stab through the side. He howled in pain, but it was cut short when Kassandra moved again, lightning quick, to slice his throat open in a shower of blood.

As her attacker crumpled to the ground, Kassandra turned to the man who had fallen to the ground in fear.

“Now,” she breathed, taking one heavy step after another, “I think you owe me some answers, and an antidote.”

*

_ Fucking Kallias. _

Kassandra touched a hand over Alkibiades’ brow as he laid back onto the carpet. Barnabas was propping his head up against a pillow, which earned him a grateful little whimper from the Athenian statesman.

She leaned closer when he mumbled something else inaudibly, and felt a clammy hand come to the side of her face.

“More _ wine_, to wash the taste.”

She shoved him away. He had the audacity to laugh, and laid back against the pillow. He watched her from half-lidded eyes, smiling weakly.

“You _ do _deserve the title of hero, you know. Aspasia was right.”

Kassandra’s smile was thin. There was a distant ache that throbbed in her chest, and she took Alkibiades’ hand in hers.

“Don’t listen to her. I’m just unlucky enough that I always end up where I’m needed.”

“Hmm.” He closed his eyes, sighing softly. “I see why she likes you so much. I see why _ I _like you so much. Kassandra?”

“Yes, Alkibiades?”

“I still expect you to win the pankration and come back to me, sweaty and glorious, if you please.”

Kassandra snorted. Barnabas shook his head.

“I’ll do my best. Just for you.”

*

It was raining in Korinth.

Anthousa came over to drape a blanket over her shoulders before settling down across her by the window. Thunder rumbled sonorously beyond the walls, and Aspasia gratefully clutched at the warmth around her.

“No updates?”

“Not from Boeotia. Not yet. Athens has been quiet, as well. The Persians have retreated.”

“Hm. It would seem Kleon needs to prove himself to his quarry.” 

Anthousa huffed, amused. “The Persians are a tough crowd to please. Surely he knows that.”

“Indeed. Father could never quite bend them to his will, even back then.”

“And then Xerxes fell,” the _ hetaera _purred. “Your Cult has quite an interesting track record where treachery is concerned.”

“You sound interested,” Aspasia teased.

Anthousa chuckled. “My answer is the same as it was years ago. You know that. I’m only here for you.”

“And I will always be grateful for your loyalty.”

The two women lapsed into companionable silence. Aspasia lost herself in unknown thoughts, expression soft and unreadable in the firelight. Anthousa watched her for a long moment, before clearing her throat.

“Your Eagle Bearer is making waves in Elis, if you’re curious.” Anthousa’s lips curled into a smirk when Aspasia looked. “It’s quite outrageous. A woman competing in the Olympics.”

“My, my.” Aspasia found herself grinning, absurdly enough. “That does sound like her.”

“You sound proud.”

“I am.” There was warmth there, in her quiet admission. She looked outside, into dark grey skies. “It’s difficult not to be.”

“Such a glowing appraisal for the runaway Spartan.” Anthousa propped her chin on one arm, leaning forward against the table between them. There was a meaningful light in her eyes. “I do wonder what you’re thinking, sister. Was it not sabotage that you intended at the beginning?”

Aspasia’s gaze flickered back to Anthousa. “It was,” she said simply. “And then suddenly, it wasn’t.”

Anthousa raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“She’s different,” Aspasia said softly. “Nothing like I’d expected, that’s for certain.”

“And does that change things?”

“No.” Aspasia blinked, and then blinked away from Anthousa’s face. “Not everything. I still want the same things. The only difference now is that I want her along with it.”

Anthousa hummed, thoughtful. “Do you feel like you’re asking for too much? What will happen when she finds out?”

Aspasia shivered from an internal chill that had nothing to do with the rainstorm raging outside. She thought of Kassandra’s hands, warm, coming to hold her face. Her heart began to ache.

“I was hoping,” she said with a smile, “that you would have an answer to that.”

Anthousa laughed, the same quiet laugh she’d had since they met when they were girls. She tucked a lock of dark hair behind her ear, contemplative.

“I’m no Pythia, I cannot say.” She leaned back, folding her hands neatly into her lap. “She may never forgive you.”

“I know.”

“And yet you cling to every scrap of news about her that comes your way,” said Anthousa, worry seeping into her words. “This was not part of your plan.”

“I know,” Aspasia said again. Irritation flared around the edges of her response. “I’m tired, Anthousa. I wish it were simple enough to explain.”

Anthousa was giving her one of her knowing looks. “You must be cursing old Axiochos right now.”

Aspasia laughed, a hollow sound, and brought a hand up to her temple to rub at the ache that had surfaced there. 

“He lifted me up into the hands of Kosmos, for better or for worse. If he hadn’t, perhaps I would never have met Kassandra.”

Anthousa tutted softly in the quiet sitting room. Thunder crashed distantly again.

“Look at you, all sentimental," she said, not bothering to hide her wistfulness. “How will this game end for you? Have you ever thought about it?”

Aspasia breathed a little sigh, and drew back slightly. Outside, the storm raged with no end in sight. The world was a grey, dreary thing without Kassandra by her side. She curled a hand over the fabric of her robe, gripping tightly as if for dear life.

“Hopefully,” she said softly, “somewhere watching a peaceful sunrise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've passed 1,000 hits?? How? WELL, REGARDLESS, here's a carefully crafted update just for you with A LOT OF BRASIDAS (BROSIDAS AMIRITE). <3


	21. The Clipping of These Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Show me what I already see in you.

All of the Greek world, it seemed, now knew her name. It was like hearing the ocean roar. Kassandra stood in a daze for a moment as the weight of the bronze wreath settled around her head and seemed to hold her in place altogether. 

Men were yelling themselves hoarse trying to get her attention, arms flailing about in the air violently, and off to the side she saw Barnabas and Alkibiades exchanging approving nods. In the air was an energy she’d never quite felt before, and her entire form seemed to shake along with it.

The sky cleared up into a brilliant, spotless morning. Someone was shaking her hand. Another was trying to grab at her bicep, much to her horror. 

The crowd parted for her as she descended the marble steps and stumbled her way towards the Athenian and her ship’s captain. Once she was well within arm’s reach, Alkibiades folded her into a warm embrace and giggled into her ear.

“I knew you’d win right from the start!”

“An Olympic champion! Who’d have thought!” Barnabas slapped her on the back. 

She pulled away, feeling somewhat sore, and gratefully let herself be wheeled away by her two friends--and out of the buzzing crowd’s reach. Flanked on either side, they found their way down a smooth path towards one of the smaller guesthouses that Alkibiades had arranged for her to occupy following the massacre at the Leonidaion. 

It was a modest little building, conveniently situated near an even more modest bathhouse; its white walls were impeccable and gleaming under sunlight, and the purple banners of Elis rippled gently in the wind.

Kassandra dressed herself and removed the wreath in private. She felt the weight of her crown for a brief moment and wondered if the gods were playing a joke on her--she had, after all, only come to do her duty for Sparta, regain her home, and destroy a dark cult. She hadn’t banked on winning the Olympics or walking away with the world at her feet.

She felt around her armor straps and secured them just as Barnabas coughed indiscreetly just on the other side of the door.

“My boys saw that _malakas _judge headed for the port,” came his report. “I’ll catch up with you after I send Alkibiades to hisship, in case anyone decides to try something again.”

Kassandra checked her dagger before sheathing it neatly, and emerged from the room with renewed purpose. The Olympic wreath fell into Barnabas’ shaking hands.

“Good job. Keep this safe for me while I’m gone, will you?” She patted him on the back as he sputtered gibberish, eyes growing wide at his new boon.

Outside, Alkibiades greeted her with a salacious wink. “Off to do your duty again, hero? You look very dashing, by the way.”

“I look the same as always, Alkibiades.”

“You’re no fun, sweetling. Don’t forget to write.”

Phobos was at her side at a sharp whistle, neighing with zeal as though he, too, could smell the hunt that awaited them both.

The Sanctuary of Olympia shrank rapidly behind them as Phobos kicked off with vigor. She kept her eyes on the path ahead where sparse forests dotted Elis’ mountainous landscape. Ikaros kept pace with them from above and let out a singular cry that echoed throughout the valley, indicating that he’d spotted Kassandra’s quarry. 

The Eagle Bearer watched Ikaros flap his wings powerfully and soared through the air ahead of them, and beckoned Phobos to keep up. Soon the wind was whipping fiercely in her hair as they followed the lone trail back to western Elis; Kassandra kept her eyes peeled for a broad-shouldered straggler on the side of the road who had, no doubt, departed the Valley immediately after Kassandra’s crowning as victor.

Ikaros’ shrill cry reached her again. She lifted her gaze and followed her faithful hunting partner, lightly tugging at the reins to guide Phobos on his course. As the mountains and hills lowered into vast marshes and plains, Kassandra caught sight of a tiny speck ahead of her. 

“We’ve got him now,” she murmured, leaning forward. 

Phobos seemed to understand and threw himself deeper into the chase, kicking up a storm in the wake of his fierce gallop.

Kallias was riding on horseback, too, but Kassandra had hunted with Phobos all manners of beasts and men. The world seemed to stretch into a blur as she approached her mark, and once she’d caught up with him and seen the light of fear in his eyes, she swung off the side of Phobos’ body and lunged at Kallias. 

They tumbled into the dirt and grass just off the side of the road. Kassandra tucked in her feet and dropped into a roll, and heard Kallias finish his landing somewhere off to her right. She was back on her feet in an instant, and the blade of her dagger glinted harshly in the sun.

Kallias let out a groan and rose as well, drawing his blade. There was a twisted snarl on his face that turned him into someone else completely, and all traces of the mild-mannered man he’d been before vanished into thin air.

“Persistent to the very end,” he growled, “Very well, Eagle Bearer. Let’s dance.”

Kassandra entered into a defensive stance and dug her heels in. There was a burning question on the tip of her tongue now, even as Kallias loomed with murderous intent.

“Give me the name of the Ghost.”

Kallias stopped short, eyes widening. Shock faded quickly into amusement, and he laughed harshly. “The eagle asks the right question.”

Anger rippled through her like a dark wave. And then, a little belatedly, fear pricked at her. Kallias wore Silanos' face one second, then Nicodemus in the next. There was no mistaking it. Kassandra had come to remember these things all too well, things that followed her deep into her dreams. The walls in her chest closed in, dreadful. Her voice shook beneath the weight of it all.

“Don’t toy with me. Her _ name_. Now.”

Kallias licked his lips. “I think not. I think I like the way you look, lost and desperate.” He advanced with surprising speed for a man his age, and Kassandra had leap backwards to stay out of the dangerous arc of his blade. “If you come quietly to your death, I promise it will not haunt you any longer. Wouldn’t you prefer that, Kassandra?”

Kassandra audibly swore and pushed his right flank, propelled by the mounting frustration that seemed to be coming all the way up to her ears. She heard nothing but the mad rush of her own heartbeat that guided her movement as her arm surged upward. Their blades met in a shrill ring, and Kassandra shifted her weight to bring her strength down onto Kallias. He held her there, grey beard bristling as he chuckled.

“Aren’t you the perfect hound dog?”

Her mouth twisted into a dark grimace. “Aren’t you too arrogant for someone who is about to die?”

He pivoted and pushed back against her, steel screeching, and pummelled his free fist into her torso. The motion and force of it winded her slightly, and she stumbled back. In a flash, instinct took control of her when she saw what was coming; she darted away just in time to avoid a clean skull-splitting from above. 

She circled around him, willing herself to be as fast as Hermes, and ducked when he swung around in a wild, heavy motion. As his dark blade sailed over her head, she rose, dexterous, to follow the motion of his swing. Reaching for him, she curled a hand around his wrist. Caught by the suddenness of it, Kallias faltered for a split second.

A split second was all she needed. 

Kassandra pivoted heavily, twisting his wrist in an awful crack, and hauled the entire weight of his body--forward, up, and over. He landed on his back in a painful, thunderous sound, sword hand caught in a torturous angle. 

His scream melted into a harsh, wet sound when Kassandra brought her blade over his throat. A thick red line bloomed brightly in its wake. He pawed weakly at her until no strength remained, and his body stilled in the grass.

She left him as the grass and soil ran red beneath his unmoving form. Kallias’ face was frozen in perpetual fear, staring up into the sun.

*

On the main deck of the _ Adrestia_, Barnabas was parading himself up and down before Herodotos and Kassandra. The bronze wreath glinted impressively in the sun as they pushed away from the docks of Elis, and several crew members had begun to crowd within their vicinity and rippled with amusement at the sight of their captain at the peak of his antics. 

When Barnabas was in a good mood, he damn well made sure anyone who was above deck knew it.

Yet a heavy frown had been set across Kassandra’s face since she boarded, and not even Barnabas could coax a drop of amusement out of her. She was somewhat distracted by the distant quaking in her hands, and kept her arms crossed tightly as she burned a hole into the wooden flooring with her gaze.

“For an Olympic champion, you don’t seem to be very pleased.”

Herodotos’ lips curved into a gentle smile as he drew down his hood. Kassandra uncrossed her arms, awkward, and then decided to cross them again as they turned out to face the sea. For a moment, neither person said anything. 

Behind them, the crew was entering softly into the beginnings of a sea shanty. The surging sense of joy in the air felt wrong and out of place to the Eagle Bearer, and she drew in a slow breath to steady herself.

“I get the feeling I’m about to discover something terrible,” Kassandra finally said.

“That is nothing new,” Herodotos offered lightly, before growing a little serious, “But I see you don’t just mean the usual kind of bad news.”

“Unfortunately.” Kassandra sighed. “How long can a person escape the truth, realistically?”

“I would advise them not to attempt it at all. It will hurt far less, from personal experience.”

“Is that why you’re a historian?” Kassandra leaned forward to grip the railing with both hands, pensive. “So the truth doesn’t escape you?”

“So it doesn’t escape any of us, I should hope, and that we’re able to learn how to move forward because of it.” Herodotos approached the railing, too, and offered her a comforting pat on the shoulder. “It is worse to stay still than stay in the past.”

“I... don’t know about that.”

“What is it that you suspect, Kassandra?”

The Eagle Bearer thinned her lips and watched the waves, as though trying to make sense of the water’s movement. There was a fog in her mind that was parting with an inevitability that left her feeling colder than usual when out at sea. And behind it laid fragments of thoughts, waiting to be pieced together. 

_ I haven’t once stopped to think about it. I _ can't_. Maybe I've always known. Maybe _mater _was--_

She drew away from the edge with a veiled expression. “I don’t know. Just chasing a ghost.”

Herodotos laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. There was a kindness to him that could break the hardest of hearts, Kassandra thought. Even now, it was threatening to pierce right through her chest so the tempest inside her could spill forth.

She looked back out to sea, lost. 

*

Sparta was foreign to him.

The sprawling path that twisted through the woods brought a sick sense of dread that churned in the pit of Deimos’ stomach as he walked, leaves crunching sharply underfoot. The distant sound of Spartan boys in training filtered through the trees, answering to their trainer in voices that broke from time to time that gave away their youth. Deimos prowled the woods for what felt like forever and attempted to conjure up the image of himself training in this forest, in another life.

It proved to be a difficult task, mentally draining him so keenly that he felt his physical strength waver too. It was a life he’d never once tasted. Only the dark arms of Kosmos had held him through his growing up years, with the witch Chrysis watching after his education and upbringing. 

Something close to anger curled within him. _ Upbringing _ was a word meant for happy childhoods. He had been molded into a god. _ That _had not been upbringing--but creation.

And Chrysis had turned him into her masterwork, calling the pain she inflicted on him “just part of the process.” She called many dark things _good_. He could see it in his mind's eye: her wrinkled face twisting into that of a demon’s just a split second before smoothing into the perfect picture of motherly concern. 

_ Love is weakness. Pain is power. And you’re powerful, aren’t you, my son? Show me what I already see in you. _

Deimos had found himself caught in dangerous currents, then, never quite knowing what to think. The uncertainty numbed him, and his fear kept Kosmos appeased. The making of a god was a dark journey, long and arduous, into a thousand hellish nights.

Suddenly, he heard the bursting sound of laughter among the boys. Deimos felt strangely struck by it. 

When he passed by the group of Spartan younglings, several heads turned. But the boys didn’t see Deimos, foreigner to these lands. They saw a lone Spartan soldier, nodding with approval in their direction as he followed the path back to the city, red cape flapping with every step.

He looked like a hero, they murmured amongst themselves. _ A real hero of Sparta. _

*

The doors to the throne room parted, and firelight flooded the path outside. Two shadows spilled out onto the ground, and the Spartan elite guard straightened their backs just a fraction. Archidamos stepped out into the open first, followed by Pausanias. They looked like they were worlds apart, Deimos thought. Archidamos was severe and stoic while Pausanias exuded slippery charm and arrogance.

He kept his eyes on the milder looking of the two kings, and watched as they made their way down the path away from the throne room. Archidamos split off from Pausanias towards the _ dromos_, flanked on either side by his personal guard, while the younger king deviated in the other direction.

Deimos hid in the shadow of Kastor’s towering bronze form as he trailed after Pausanias. The man seemed to be making a leisurely sweep of the city, and ever so often halted in the streets to entertain a Spartan citizen or two with a brief word. It seemed a waste of time. Utter indulgence. Deimos felt his patience wear away in the fading light. 

They twisted through the city, rounding corner after corner, and Pausanias made no signs of stopping or slowing down. The sun slipped out of sight, not long after. 

Sparta softened into a slumbering beast, and it was this silence that bore down on Deimos as a weight upon his chest. The streets were clearing out. Trees swayed and bent to the will of the wind, faceless onlookers observing the ongoing hunt with apathy. The children had stopped laughing, ushered away by the harsh whispers of their parents. The world grew quiet.

And then Pausanias waved his guards away before taking a sharp turn into the darkness, alone. Deimos emerged into the shadow of Leonidas after what felt like hours of being strung along and looked into his grandfather’s severe expression, immortalised in his trademark ferocity. Moonlight slanted onto Leonidas’ face as though to offer it some semblance of life. It was a strange sight.

“Hello, Deimos.” Pausanias’ voice slithered out of the shadows. “I was not told to expect you here.”

Deimos turned, slow, and kept a hand close to the hilt of his sword. “Sending a letter would’ve been a hassle. You know me.”

“All too well. And I also know Kleon sent you after the Eagle Bearer. She left for Elis three days ago.”

Deimos heard the accusation in his mild tone. 

“She’ll be back, won’t she? I intend to lie in wait.”

“And follow me around in the meantime? My, my, Deimos. Surely you don’t take me for a fool.”

He heard the light sound of quick footsteps and spun towards the source. A shadow advanced on him before it split into three, emerging from behind Leonidas’ statue. The moon revealed them for who they are, and Deimos found himself face to face with the snarling grin of Kosmos.

Pausanias showed his face, then, a slick smile cut across his young face.

“I’m disappointed. Perhaps it’s time to reflect, Deimos, and ask Kosmos for his forgiveness.”

They closed in on him at that moment, and Deimos drew his sword. Pausanias clasped his hands behind his back, cruel intent showing itself in his mild gaze, and watched as Deimos lurched out of the way to avoid a soldier barrelling in his direction, spear at the ready.

Another sprung out at him, having anticipated his movement, and bashed a rounded shield heavily into the side of Deimos’ face. The world around him slanted violently for a second as he stumbled. A sharp pain was spreading across his face like wildfire. Thick liquid trickled from his burning nostrils and over his upper lip.

There was a vague swimming sensation in his mind as he grasped for balance, and readied himself for the presence closing in from behind.

He caught the spear as he twisted around and out of the way, willing himself to focus, and yanked the cultist soldier roughly along with it. The soldier stumbled forward in his iron grip and impaled himself on Deimos’ sword with a guttural cry. Deimos lifted his foot, pressing it to the soldier’s chest, and kicked him cleanly off his blade.

Pausanias kept himself well out of reach behind his men, watching for the moment when Deimos would strike.

The remaining cultists flanked him on both sides and struck out without hesitation. Deimos lifted his blade and parried one attack after the other, ignoring the awful throbbing in the middle of his face. 

He found an opening after being backed into a corner and skittered off to the right, repaying one soldier’s overconfidence with a brutal slash across his side. Blood spilled out on the moonlit path, and Deimos reached out to grab the man he’d injured--just in time to jerk him in the way of a glinting spearhead.

He reared back and delivered a swift kick to the dead man’s back, skewering him further along the length of his comrade’s weapon. The deadweight there left Deimos’ attacker open at last, and he lunged ahead to end his life with a clean thrust of his sword through the neck. Blood spurted across Deimos’ unflinching expression, mingling with his own. 

He heard a faint sound, then, like a sharp whisper in the night.

The whisper cut through the air before ending in a dull _thwack. _An arrow pierced his back, cutting deep enough into his flesh that he lurched forward with a staggering few steps, but not enough to bring him to his knees.

Deimos spun around wildly, one hand reaching up behind him to free the arrow from his back, and came face to face with Pausanias, wielding a hunting bow. He lifted his sword in a display of defiance and felt its whole weight keenly. His arm trembled beneath that weight as he swayed with imbalance.

“Wipe that smile off your face, you fucking--”

“Now, now. Is that any way to talk to a king?”

A burning sensation bloomed across his back. Deimos flung the broken arrow aside in a savage motion. He took one step, then another, and felt his legs grow heavy. 

“_I’m _the king,” he said, and was surprised to hear the weak rasp of his voice. “This world… is mine.”

Somewhere along the way he’d dropped his sword, and it clattered noisily into the night. When had he…?

The numbness reached up over his waist and finally brought him to his knees before the young Spartan king.

Pausanias looked down at him with half-lidded eyes, and allowed Deimos to grasp uselessly at the length of his robe. “Kneeling suits you, Deimos. You are no ruler--you have not been for quite some time.”

“You--”

Pausanias seized his chin and jerked his head up. Deimos stilled in his grip, eyes wide. 

“Be quiet, if you want to live.”

Pausanias released him with a harsh toss, and darkness engulfed Deimos’ vision long before his head hit the bloodied stone where he knelt.

*

He woke with a start, and found himself bound to a wooden beam. The stone was wet and cold where he had been forced to kneel. All around him was an impenetrable darkness, enveloping him like a thick blanket around his eyes and ears. 

_ Fuck. _

Pausanias was there, too--just waiting in the dark. Deimos struggled against his bonds until the rope chafed against his skin, rubbing him raw, and he finally slumped back in defeat when he was certain he had begun bleeding along his wrists.

“Do you know what we do to traitors, Deimos?”

Deimos spat roughly into the shadows, “I don’t know. What _ should _I do with you?”

Pausanias laughed. “The poison must have gotten to your head. I am no traitor.”

“No?” Deimos glared into the darkness. “You plot and scheme with Kleon behind my back, you allow the Persians to take the Greek world and lay back like a filthy whore--and you _ spit _on what Kosmos is.”

“You sound just like Aspasia. Did she send you?”

Deimos strained against his bonds with a growl. “_No one _ sent me. Once I kill you and Kleon, I will kill _her_, too.”

“And how do you intend to do that,” Pausanias purred, “bound like that, pet?”

A heavy knock against the door echoed ominously in the dark. Deimos could see the line of the doorway now, illuminated by fire from beyond. Pausanias unlatched the lock. Deimos, long adjusted to the darkness, nearly blinded himself as he looked into the flickering flame of a lit torch. The man holding it was smiling, sickly sweet, and licked his lips as he looked upon Deimos.

“The rack is ready.”

Cold fear struck out at Deimos, and he straightened his back against the wooden beam behind him. 

“_No_.”

“I don’t believe I ever gave you a choice in the matter.”

The torchlight illuminated Pausanias’ face now, too, and Deimos saw the subtle curl of a smile beginning to surface there. The Spartan king rounded on Deimos at last, dark pleasure eclipsing his expression.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, I've been over this draft a million times, my eyes glaze over every time I read it again. Please take my offering, friends.


	22. Retrograde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Even as Kosmos tears the world apart, it is tearing itself apart as well."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: torture

Shadows flickered across Aspasia’s expression, unreadable in the firelight. The report from Lakonia stared back at her, heavy scrawls detailing something dark that left a sour taste in her mouth when she finished her reading. Across from her stood Anthousa, arms crossed over her chest. 

Between them, something awful was filling the silence. The candle’s flame flickered weakly as a cold gust of wind entered the room through the open window, where a mass of dark clouds had come to darken the night that fell over Korinth.

Finally, Anthousa broke the silence. She lowered herself into her seat slowly as she spoke, “What will you do about this?”

“What _ am _I to do? The boy isn’t my concern.”

“Aspasia.” Anthousa’s gaze narrowed, full of meaning. “I rather think he could be—to your advantage.”

The socialite reclined against her chair and dropped the report. “He hasn’t listened to me in a very long time.”

“It’s not about controlling him anymore. It’s about the Eagle Bearer.” She leaned forward. “If she finds out who you are—”

“Then I will have to deal with the fallout.”

“That fallout may mean death.”

“So be it.” Aspasia looked into the dancing flame between them, resolute. “Deimos will bring nothing but pain. If he dies—”

“_If he dies_,” Anthousa said heavily, “then you may truly lose her forever.” 

“The cult is getting out of hand, and Kleon gains their support as the days go by. Perhaps I have already lost her,” Aspasia said softly. “Pausanias acting out like this only means they have very little reason to fear me. And that means Kassandra—”

“You don’t know that.”

“I will not lose myself to wishful thinking. Things have changed—and they are changing still.” Aspasia pressed two fingers to her temple and closed her eyes. “All it takes is one man to tell her the truth.”

“Then show her otherwise.” She heard Anthousa sigh. “Kassandra may yet see the merit in your intentions. You want the cult extinguished as much as she does. Show her more—that you want her family intact, as well.”

“The family I wanted dead? That _ Kosmos _wanted dead?”

“_Are _you Kosmos? Or are you my sister?”

Aspasia opened her eyes. There was something jagged and hurt in Anthousa’s words that seemed to pierce at her as well, adding to the dark throbbing in her head. She drew in a slow breath and felt a twinge of pain in the center of her chest, and slowly leaned forward.

“I haven’t wondered in years,” was her flat response.

The other woman huffed, brows furrowing darkly. “Perhaps it’s time you did again.”

“Is this about Kassandra, or is it about your conscience?” Aspasia lifted her chin and looked up at Anthousa, who was rising to her feet. “Perhaps it’s finally occurred to you what it means to protect the Ghost of Kosmos.”

Anthousa turned away to face the open window. Dark clouds dispersed, revealing a crescent moon in the sky, its silvery light filtering gently into the chamber and washing over the cobblestone floor. The _ hetaera _had a searching look on her face, as though seeking an answer hidden somewhere in the heavens. Aspasia drew back, eyes half-lidded in contemplation, and folded her arms slowly over her chest.

“You ought to remember the woman you used to be,” Anthousa murmured at last. “Sometimes I think I still see her in your eyes. Surely you’ve felt it.”

“Not a bit.”

“Liar.” The corner of Anthousa’s mouth lifted. “Every time you talk about the Eagle Bearer, it shows.”

Aspasia opened her mouth, but no rebuttal came forth. There was only the gaping silence between two sisters—and a lifetime of history that was threatening to come rushing back and sweep her away. The stateswoman’s gaze dropped back to the report from Lakonia. She briefly scanned it once more, as if concerned that the words had rearranged themselves in the time she’d spent not looking at it.

She could hear the soft wind of Anthousa’s fuming, deep breaths through the nose. Always the nose when she wanted to make a point or make her feelings known. Aspasia picked up the report and began to roll it back. Papyrus crinkled gently in the quiet, still night. When she was finished, she set the document aside and deftly rearranged the rest of her desk’s contents.

Anthousa was watching her when she looked up again, the displeased curve of her mouth softening into something more neutral—more apprehensive.

Aspasia rose to her feet in one graceful motion, and clasped her hands in front of her.

“How many can we spare to send to Lakonia?”

*

She dropped an armful of kindling at Brasidas’ feet. The Spartan stirred awake, having fallen asleep in a seated position with knees drawn close to his chest, and blinked up at Kassandra with a bleary look in his eyes.

“That was fast.”

“No it _wasn’t_.” She crossed her arms and peered down at him. “There were wolves, did you know?”

He cracked open his mouth in a powerful yawn. “So ask Phobos to step on them.” 

Kassandra kicked him lightly in the ankle before getting to work. A chill had caught in the air, and every gust of wind left both of them rattling in their armour where they stood. The abandoned farmhouse in Tegea promised a warm enough interior, but Kassandra hadn’t wanted to accidentally set anything on fire—least of all evidence of Lagos’ involvement with the cult or the supposed blackmail Brasidas believed existed.

There was ample room outside behind the humble little structure, and no one had come down the path in hours. Arkadia had not been welcoming so far. The last thing the Eagle Bearer needed right now was a group of bounty hunters, thirsting for the drachmae hanging over her head. But Brasidas had insisted—and she knew they’d stand a better chance fighting side by side, anyway.

They piled the mass of twigs and bark together before Brasidas worked on getting a fire going. Kassandra dropped to the ground across from him, crossing her legs, and watched the spark flicker briefly to life before dying out beneath another unwelcome gust of wind.

“You’re going to ask me another difficult question, aren’t you,” Brasidas said without looking up. 

Kassandra propped a fist under her chin. “Why do you believe Lagos so much?”

Another spark. Nothing. Brasidas muttered something under his breath before sparing Kassandra a glance. “Well, you know. We go way back, I’ve told you.”

“I know that. But that doesn’t mean he can’t turn down a darker path. Anyone could,” Kassandra added softly.

“Anyone could, but I have faith.” Brasidas looked back at what he was doing. “We could all use a little bit of that in our lives.”

“And what if he’s actually an unrepentant, _ malakas _cultist overlord? What if he tries to kill you, too?”

“Then I’ll knock him out cold, tie him up, and bring him away.” At that moment, a fire came to life—born from nothing but sheer will. The kindling caught on soon after, and the flames grew rapidly, warming the air between them. “Does it sound stupid to you or something?”

She shook her head. “I just don’t think any kind of love can save someone like that.”

Brasidas chuckled. “Then you don’t know what we’re capable of.”

“Really,” Kassandra lifted a brow, “You believe in the power of love?”

“Sometimes I wonder what kind of man you think I am.” Brasidas settled into a seating position as the flames between them grew higher. “I fight and bleed like anyone else, and I’m good at war. But I’ve got things to live and fight for, too. _ People _ to fight for. If I give up on Lagos, then he is truly lost forever. You understand?”

Kassandra stared into the crackling fire. “I suppose.”

“Don’t suppose,” Brasidas said firmly. “You’ve been running yourself into the ground trying to get a hold of your brother Deimos, haven’t you?”

“_Alexios_,” she corrected him immediately.

“Alexios.” Brasidas nodded. “I could ask the same thing about you. He killed the king of Athens without remorse, yes? Yet here you are, fighting to take him back.”

Wood was beginning to split and crack apart beneath the intense heat, and a tiny trail of smoke was ascending into the night sky. Kassandra met Brasidas’ gaze and saw the same fire in his eyes—terrifying, determined, brave.

He smiled.

“You’ll undo the worst of him,” he said. “_And _ anyone else you think isn’t worth saving.”

“Hm. Ever considered a career in politics? Could be useful, with all that inspiration inside you.”

“Maybe when you stop being an avoidant little shit, I might.”

“Eh.” Kassandra smirked, expression bright in the firelight. “I’ll think about it.”

*

She jolted awake to find Brasidas hovering over her with a finger to his lips. There was an urgency in his eyes that told her all she needed to know, and she kept silent as they both rose to their feet. The fire had long died out, leaving nothing but a pile of ash that scattered gradually with every passing touch of the wind. 

Beyond the walls of the small farmhouse, Kassandra heard the rustling sound of people shuffling through the fields.

Their whispers grew louder as they approached, and three shadows were cast long on the pathway outside the farmhouse by way of moonlight. Brasidas pulled Kassandra aside and ducked deftly behind the house before peering around the corner to spy on their new guests.

Kassandra pressed a hand over his back as she leaned forward to get a better look. A man dressed in civilian rags stepped into view, flanked by two soldiers that the Eagle Bearer recognised immediately as cultist soldiers. The civilian squashed between them was a middle-aged, weary-faced man who looked like he had no desire to be here at all. He lifted a rolled up piece of parchment to one of the cultists, who only gave it a brief glance.

“This is the letter,” the man said, “from Lagos.”

“Good. And you weren’t followed?” The cultist soldier who’d spoken peered out into the open path behind them. “You’re absolutely certain?”

“Absolutely.” The man’s knees shook. “I… can I go now?”

“No.” The other soldier clapped a hand over the man’s back, seemingly grabbing a fistful of his tunic. “Our job is to deliver this to the scorched tree by the golden field. Once that’s done, _ then _you can go. Now move.”

Kassandra and Brasidas exchanged dark glances, and then she was stepping out from behind cover.

“I’ll follow them,” she said once they were out of view, “You stay here and keep searching.”

“I’ll wait here then.” Brasidas caught her arm as she moved. “You’d better not get yourself killed.”

“What, and leave you in peace? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

She kept at a safe distance and used the fields as cover as they moved. The cultist soldiers were barking about their assignment now, indignance and frustration colouring their choice of words, and the messenger between them trailed meekly behind them with the letter tight in his grip. They followed the main path for a little while longer until the golden field came into view—along with the scorched tree they’d mentioned.

It was a dead, twisted structure, charred into such a deep shade of black that it stood out stark against an already dark night. At its base knelt a woman, bound at the wrists, along with another cultist soldier stationed along the roadside, leaning against his spear.

“He’s not here yet?” 

“Fuck no.” The soldier guarding the woman by the tree looked up and down the path. “But he should be here soon. Then I’ve got to escort him back east to the farmhouse.”

“Bah. Shit job.”

“Yes, but if anyone traces him back to the Archon’s family—”

“I know, I know. What do we do about her?”

Kassandra moved noiselessly through the field and trailed around the camp’s perimeter until she emerged on a low cliff directly behind the dead tree. She thought she might have heard a tiny sob and paused to listen, pressed flush against a tall enough boulder that concealed her from view. One of the soldiers was laughing darkly.

“I don’t know. No one gave us orders for her. Maybe I’ll have a little fun in the field, eh?”

“Please… no…”

“I’m not asking for permission, whore. Now—lay still…”

As though it was all the permission she needed, Kassandra ducked out into the open and made her move. She moved under the cover of the night, appearing as a shadow to the cultists down below, and took one dexterous leap off the cliff with her dagger glinting dangerously in the moonlight.

It ended almost as soon as it had started. The cultists had been caught by surprise and stumbled in the darkness, weighed down by their heavy weapons and the fear Kassandra instilled in them after cleanly finishing off her first victim. She darted through and around them with deadly purpose and made quick work of them, relishing in the sound of one crumpled body hitting the ground after another. 

The woman sobbed into her chest once she’d been freed of her bonds, and Kassandra took a moment to awkwardly pat her on the back. 

“You’re alright now.”

“I am,” gasped the woman, “but—but the Archon’s family!”

“Where are they?” Kassandra asked, guiding the woman apart with her hands on her shoulders. “They’re alive?”

“Yes, yes!” Her eyes gleamed with tears of relief and desperation, all at once. “The eastern farmhouse—there’s a well. Underground! That’s where they are, _ misthios_. You have to save them!”

_ So Brasidas was right. Lagos is being blackmailed. _

It was her one and only lead. Kassandra let it guide her onto a better path, one that was free of uncertainty in a world shrouded by shadow.

*

“A little bit more, please.”

“As you say, my king.” The man with the sickly smile ambled over to the bench where Deimos lay, trembling beneath the tension stretched across his body. Gnarled hands came to grip at the winch handles and began to turn it, eliciting a groan from the wooden rack—and another pained scream from their exhausted captive.

The sound of Deimos’ yell bounced off the walls and seemed to consume the entire room. His voice cracked horribly and his throat was beginning to punish him for his exertion, but it was nothing compared to the suffering that ravaged his body. He strained against his bonds, ropes tied around his arms and feet, and fought against the bench’s mechanism with sheer strength.

The man turned the winch further along, and Deimos screamed again, feeling himself being pulled apart at the seams. At any moment now, he would split apart in a shower of blood and gore—if the man handling the winch was strong enough.

He bit back a whimper at the thought and closed his eyes, as though it would protect him from the pain.

“Now,” Pausanias said gently into his ear, “Let’s try again.” A hand came to rest over his brow and stroked his hair, wet and glistening with sweat. “Should Kosmos forgive you, son?”

Deimos growled through gritted teeth. “I’ll—fucking—kill—you—_agh! _” 

The rack was doing its work again. Deimos strained against the rope tied around his wrists and felt his skin chafe raw, until there was nothing but a burning sensation that spread across his entire form. His vision blurred with sweat and tears. 

“No… _ stop! Stop!_”

Pausanias’ foggy face came into view as he leaned down to speak to his captive once more.

“Is that what you want? To stop?”

Agony in every line of his body. It felt as though he was separating from himself, mind fogged with so much pain it was beginning to interfere with every function in his body. His heartbeat was pounding furiously in his ears.

“Please… _ please!_” Deimos choked on a sob and took one gasping breath. “No…!”

“Ease off, friend. I think Deimos here deserves some relief.”

And relief did come. Deimos heard the whine of the winch being turned and felt the tension in his bonds melt away as his cries died down into a reedy whimper. His body trembled and quaked in the aftermath, and he closed his eyes to shut away the tears and stinging pain. The painless moment that followed felt like heaven, and he breathed a long, ragged sigh.

“See?” Pausanias’ voice was pressed against his ear again. “Mercy. We are capable of mercy. So long as you submit and be a good boy.”

“I…” Deimos’ head began to swim. “Please. No more. I don’t want… no more.”

“What is love, Deimos?”

He swallowed with effort, and dared to open his eyes. When he did, they were glazed over with pain—ancient pain, it seemed, that came from lifetimes ago. Suddenly he saw Chrysis, her aged face smiling sweetly down at him and dark expectancy in her eyes.

“Weakness," he murmured.

“And pain?”

“..._Power_.”

Pausanias was stroking his hair again, tender. “And you’re powerful, aren’t you? Look at you. You’re a fine creature of power. Why did you ever stray from us?”

Deimos’ eyes fluttered as he washed in and out of pain. “I’m… I’m sorry. I’m sorry, _ mater_.”

“I’m not your _ mater_, boy. But, if she were here,” he leaned down to press a kiss to Deimos’ temple, “I think she would be very proud.”

Deimos whimpered again, and closed his eyes shut once more. “Thank… thank you.”

“Good. Very good. We’ll revise this again tomorrow night.” Pausanias drew back to look down at Deimos and watched his expression soften as he passed out. “And then you will finish what you were meant to do.”

*

“I knew you’d come for me, sooner or later.”

Kassandra shut the window behind her and found herself in a warmly lit office. At its center stood Lagos, a dark-haired man with kind eyes and an unassuming posture that didn’t immediately make the Eagle Bearer think of the cult. He looked every bit as harmless as Brasidas had made him out to be, and approached Kassandra with his hands clasped together in a silent plea. His red robe swayed gently as he took three steps forward, and his expression crumbled as he stood before her.

“You saved them. My family.” He dropped his face into his hands, and Kassandra heard him sigh harshly. “They’re safe because of you.” 

A slight tremor gripped his form, and Kassandra realised he was weeping. She remained where she was, watching him like this until he lifted his gaze again. A strange feeling was taking hold of her, something she couldn’t quite name yet.

“The world is in such chaos now,” he said quietly.

“The Cult did this.”

He nodded once. “It will stop at nothing to tear us all apart. Sparta and Athens, old and new…” He wiped at his nose with the back of his hand and sniffed. “I’ve seen it all, Eagle Bearer. What they’ve done—and what they plan to do.”

“Then speak,” Kassandra ordered firmly, “And tell me what you know about the Spartan king.”

“He’s a cruel, twisted man—the one you want is Pausanias.” Lagos moved to his desk and retrieved a letter. “This is all the evidence you need.”

“So it’s him.” Kassandra took the letter and unfurled it. The truth jumped out at her, dark and raw. “I’ll see about this king of lies, Lagos.”

“You’ve made an enemy of him. It will not be easy. He threatened my family with torture if I—betrayed him. He will torture all that you love as well.”

Kassandra’s brow knit into a dark frown. “I’d like to see him try.”

“I see Brasidas’ influence has gotten to you. He’s here in Arkadia, as well?” There was a hopeful lilt in Lagos’ voice as he met her gaze.

“He is. He waits at your farmhouse.” Kassandra tucked the letter away. “You should go to him.”

“Wait. There is one more thing you should know.” Lagos wrung his hands and looked to the ground between them. “The Cult is in disarray. You must take advantage of it while the window of opportunity is still open to you.”

Kassandra took one step forward. “What do you mean? What’s happened?”

“The Ghost has lost control of Kosmos. She reached out to me for support, but Pausanias had my family.” Lagos’ hands trembled at the memory. His gaze was frightened. “She no longer holds the power. Even as Kosmos tears the world apart, it is tearing itself apart as well.”

“I need to know,” Kassandra breathed, “who the Ghost is.”

“She is—”

Wood splintered sharply from behind Kassandra, putting an end to their conversation. Something sharp sliced through the air, barely grazing the side of her face—

And the world shifted again in an instant. The air grew heavy. Time seemed to slow down in this cruel moment.

There was blood all over Lagos, spilling out in pulses from his neck as the arrow pierced right through his throat. Blood that seeped into his dark robes, that spilled all over the ground between them. He clutched uselessly at the obstruction lodged in his neck and sank to his knees, mouthing wordlessly at Kassandra.

She wasted no time despite the mounting horror in her heart. She turned around, dived through the window, and emerged into the cool night air to see Lagos’ killer on the run. Dressed in all black, he moved like a shadow that was headed straight for the battlements for a quick escape.

Kassandra gave chase. The world blurred all around her except for the man in front of her, and she lunged wildly at him once he was within an arm’s reach. They tumbled on the walkway just beneath the battlements and Kassandra moved without thinking, sinking her dagger into the assailant’s thigh. He cried out in a rage-filled voice and twisted his body to stamp the underside of his foot right into her nose. Kassandra jerked back from the painful impact and released him.

She heard the ringing clatter of her dagger hitting the stone before she opened her eyes again. The man was gone. She looked up, bleary—

The shadow scaled the fort’s walls with ease despite his bleeding wound, leaving a trail of blood dripping down the battlements. And then he disappeared, leaping off to the other side.

Kassandra fell back against the ground and clapped a hand over her nose to stem the bleeding. Above her, the moon bore down, cold and unfeeling.

*

Deimos stirred awake just as someone was gently sawing at the rope around his wrist.

“What…” he moaned softly, turning his head. His eyes could not adjust quick enough, and he simply stared into a hazy vision. The rope around his wrist broke apart, and he felt his hand fall limply to his side. “Who are you?”

“Your rescue. Now be quiet.” It was a woman’s voice. She was moving to cut the rope on the other side now, too. He leaned his head back as she stretched over him, dexterously working the blade in her hand. 

“Who sent you?” Deimos asked warily, blinking. “Are you here to kill me?”

“If I did,” the woman said in a low voice, “I would be using this knife very differently.”

Deimos hummed, a dry sound. “You’re _ hetaera_. You smell… like a whore.”

The blade sank into the skin around his wrist, just slightly. He groaned in pain, and clenched down on his lower lip. Blood ran down his forearm in warm rivulets, and if he hadn’t been in so much pain, he would have found the strength to laugh.

“You’ll pick your words wisely from now on.” 

And then he was free, falling forward off the rack and onto the cold, hard ground. The woman’s feet materialised into view and she stood before him expectantly while he struggled to regain his balance—and his bearings. He shuddered under the exhaustion that gripped him and struggled to his feet, swaying violently in the dark. She caught him by the arm and held him upright, and began ushering him with purpose to the open door.

“You’re one of hers.” Deimos’ head lolled back briefly as they began to ascend the stairs. “_Aspasia_. Why?”

“Be quiet,” the woman snapped in a harsh whisper. “I will not tell you again.”

This time, Deimos went quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You smell... like a whore." -- Obviously one of my most inspired lines ever. Glad you asked.


	23. Letters II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Death is coming for all of us, and she wields it in her hand.

_ Archon, _

_ I have reached out to you because I see no one else who would listen. Should this letter fall into the right hands—yours—then heed my words against Kleon. A shadow has fallen over Athens, drowning Perikles along with it, and will soon look south to Sparta. To the far north in Makedonia, Persian men make their move across the border from Thrace. I offer you this single point: whoever wins the war will win Persia’s support. _

_ And yet we live in disarray and hide in the shadows from one another. Deimos has broken loose, the Everyman of Athens has descended into delusions of grandeur, and your Spartan king has captured your family to hold you firmly in place. It is a place you desire to depart from, this I know. And your strings have been pulled long enough. _

_ The Eagle Bearer will soon descend upon Arkadia, meaning to find you. Let her. If anyone is to strike at Pausanias and give him considerable pause, it will be her. I intend to lead her on a hunt and comb through all of Kosmos to weed out the corrupt and overly ambitious, and retake Athens. _

_ You are newly initiated. I know the depths of your heart and what you desire most. You are not a man of darkness or a harbinger of destruction. Allow the Eagle Bearer to find you, and do not pay heed to Pausanias any longer. I offer that she resolves the root of your struggle and free you of your dark duty. _

_ Your family will be safe. This I promise. All I ask is for a display of loyalty—turn away from Sparta and seek me out in Korinth. If we are to change the world for the better, we had best do it side by side as partners. _

_ And should the Eagle Bearer ask for my identity—grant it to her. If we are to escape the shadow, we must step into the light. _

_ Ghost of Kosmos _

*

_ Ghost of Kosmos, _

_ Or perhaps I should call you by your true name now? No matter—I have heard you well and clear. It is with deepest regret that I refuse your invitation to Korinth, for my family has disappeared from their last known location. Pausanias senses my hesitation, perhaps, to go along with his schemes. Arkadia is being squeezed dry of resources to fuel Sparta’s war effort in Boeotia, and they have placed me in Fort Samikon indefinitely—perhaps until your Eagle Bearer is slain. _

_ At the order of my king, I’ve placed upon her head a bounty so severe that she will not be able to set foot in Arkadia without risking her life. I pray to the gods she turns away so her life can be preserved. _

_ Kosmos is splitting at the seams. I do not know what you hope to achieve by gathering us in Korinth—and if I may speak freely, I do not much trust you either. As it is, I am caught in a difficult position, and it is only made less difficult by virtue of the fact that my wife and child are in grave danger. _

_ You have set events into motion that will persist until all of the Greek world is folded into Persia’s embrace. And whether or not these men will achieve their aim—that is, to eradicate the bloodline—no longer matters. They hunger for dominance and sovereignty, led on by your father Axiochos, then by you, and now they align themselves with Kleon. _

_ If there is only one reason why I should speak your name in the Eagle Bearer’s presence, it is so that she may one day make you pay dearly. Death is coming for all of us, and she wields it in her hand. Do not be so arrogant as to assume she will replace what you have lost in Deimos. _

_ Archon of Arkadia _

*

_ Commander, _

_By now, I expect to hear that Lagos is dead. The time has come for you to rise up and take your place in the shadows with us and replace him. You have requested our consideration for a long time—and I extend this at last to you, if only because I take pity on you. Your father Nikolaos has disappeared into the void, leaving you with nothing to your name. Fathers ought to know better. I know I do. _

_ In Boeotia, may you experience swift victory. The Eagle Bearer descends upon your encampment—use her wisely for she is a gift from the Ghost, and retake Boeotia in the name of your king. _

_ And Nikolaos himself lingers for your sake. Our spies have tracked him for a long time, and he has now shown himself once more. _

_ Here is your true assignment—and your final trial. I, the Sage of Kosmos, am willing to bestow upon you equal rank among us, that you might call us family in time. All you have to do is one single thing—kill the Wolf of Sparta. _

_ As you know, our fixation with stamping out the bloodline goes very far back to the foundation of our history. Leonidas defied our will and went against Xerxes. Persia has not forgotten. And if you aid us in this final hour, Persia will not forget your sacrifice. _

_ A new empire is upon us. Forget your father—you have a place in this new future with us. _

_ Sage of Kosmos _

*

_ Sage, _

_ You honour me to no end. I have waited all my life for this moment. _

_ I will do as you ask, no question about it. And then, for good measure, I shall dispose of the Eagle Bearer for Kosmos as well. For the glory of our future. _

_ Stentor of Sparta _


	24. Wolf Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Were you caught somewhere you weren’t supposed to be?"

An hour’s trek through the forests of Boeotia and up the gently sloping land took Kassandra to where she needed to be. 

Sunlight filtered through gently swaying leaves as she trailed up the dirt path. Beyond a cluster of trees was the unmistakable sight of Spartan red—two banners hung loose to the entrance of the encampment and flapped with enthusiasm whenever the wind swept by. 

She could hear the distant sounds of Spartans hard at work, sparring with one another in anticipation of the battle ahead of them. Shouts burst through the trees and echoed down the path. The walk felt familiar. It was just like any other major battle she’d taken part in, accepting the cold weight of drachmae in exchange for temporary loyalty and the sharp end of her blade. 

Yet there was a nagging, foreboding feeling clinging to the back of her neck. She rubbed the area where it seemed to be focusing as she emerged into a clearing, where the sun bore down on her and the hefty wooden perimeter of the Spartan camp.

“Eagle Bearer.” A Spartan polemarch stepped forward as she made her approach and raised a hand in greeting. “You’re early. Our commander hasn’t returned from his hunt yet.”

“Your commander’s about to fight a war, and he’s in the mood for some game?”

The polemarch’s lips thinned. “He’s a hothead. I’d rather not play advisor. It's been about three days, and I'm not sure when he'll return. I’ll lead you to a tent where you can rest up first, if that’s what you want.”

Kassandra shook her head. “No need. I’ll just hang around until he gets here.”

“It may take some time.”

“Then maybe some of your boys might be interested in sparring with the Eagle Bearer.”

The polemarch snorted quietly, and beckoned for her to follow. Several heads turned in her direction as she passed them by. There was a large tent at the heart of the Spartan encampment, with its flap drawn up to reveal a modest meeting area inside. Kassandra ducked in after him.

There was a large, drawn up map of Boeotia spread across the wooden table. Markings had been made across it, indicating the Athenians and their held positions, in addition to some other markings that weren’t yet labelled. In the corner, a large Spartan shield stood propped up against the tentage together with a spear.

“They’re gathering and assembling here, on the other side of this field,” the polemarch indicated a larger clearing not too far from their current position on the map. “It’s going to be the fight of our lives.”

“Isn’t it always?” Kassandra peered down at the map a little closer.

“Is it true you won the Olympics, Eagle Bearer?”

She looked up at him briefly. “Yes.”

He let out a low whistle. “It’s unheard of. I thought the messengers were joking when they came our way.”

“It wasn’t my choice.” She shrugged. “The would-be champion met with some… complications, and I was the only one who could replace him.”

“The commander didn’t like that, you know. Said you should never have broken tradition.”

“I’ve broken worse things than tradition.”

“So I’ve heard. I’ve also heard some other things, Eagle Bearer.” There was an expectant lilt in his voice that made Kassandra look up again.

The polemarch removed his helmet, revealing a head full of sandy hair that fell in wavy bangs over blue eyes. He was younger than Kassandra had expected, with the light shadow of stubble eclipsing the lower half of his face. He looked no older than twenty, perhaps.

“That _ you _killed the Wolf of Sparta, in Megaris.” He clapped the helmet to his side. “Was that true?”

“What,” Kassandra muttered, “Did your commander tell you that too?”

“He hates you for it, in fact.”

“Sounds to me like he has a personal agenda. Or he could just be a hothead.” _ Some Spartan devotee, maybe. _

The polemarch lifted and dropped his shoulders. “Both. He’s the Wolf’s son.”

Kassandra’s mouth fell open. At that moment, the shrill sound of a horse’s neigh filled the tent followed by the thunderous sound of a gallop coming to a halt. A man’s voice could be heard, steadying the beast after its furious ride back to camp. 

A voice Kassandra knew.

She turned just as he hopped off the panting stallion, jet black hair glistening with sweat and clamping down unpleasantly over his furrowing brow. The man had a grimace that also looked like something of a sneer, depending on the angle one took to look at him. A muscle was jumping in his jaw as he entered the tent with uneven steps, eyes filled with a bright, harsh light that seemed to pierce right through Kassandra.

The limp seemed fresh. Kassandra’s gaze briefly dropped to where a bandage had been wound around his thigh just below the hem of his pteruges. Something pricked at her, in a distant corner of the mind. 

“Stentor.”

“You.”

He moved before she could react or even figure out the meaning to his movement. In a split second, his fist was tightly squeezed and in the air. In the next, she felt the hard impact of his knuckles meeting the side of her still delicate nose, and stumbled backwards into the blonde polemarch who caught her just in time.

*

The polemarch offered her a small rag to stem the tide of her nosebleed. She accepted it gratefully and pressed it to her freshly injured nose for the second time that week and let out a heavy sigh.

“Told you.” The blonde man settled down next to her, perching on a fallen tree trunk just on the outskirts of camp. “Probably should have warned you beforehand. Sorry about that.”

Kassandra groaned as she pulled the rag away to check how much blood she lost. “He should try it again. See what happens a second time.”

“He wouldn’t. Not until after the battle.”

“Is that supposed to be comforting?”

He grinned. “Just giving you a heads up this time, Eagle Bearer.”

She huffed, and went back to dabbing lightly at her nostrils. “What’s your name? You didn’t introduce yourself.”

“Hektor. It’s an honour.”

She snorted and regretted it immediately. Her nose tingled with pain again. “Is it really? I thought I killed the Wolf of Sparta.”

“You can’t really blame me for assuming it. He’s gone, isn’t he?” Hektor shrugged. “And you were the last person to have seen him, according to the commander.”

“He’s right about that, at least. Everything else, not so much.” She drew a breath slowly through the nose. The blockage had cleared up, at least. Good. “_Malake_. Just my luck.”

“So if you didn’t kill the Wolf—Nikolaos,” Hektor started, “Then where is he?”

“I don’t know. It’s not something I’m interested in finding out.” Kassandra sniffed lightly, and looked up at the trees. The sun was retreating behind a passing cloud, and the light shining into the forest dimmed slightly. “Is this something you people talk about often?”

“Under the commander, unfortunately.” Hektor followed her line of sight. “He’s been a little unhinged lately, actually. Just the other day, he nearly killed one of his own men in a sparring session.”

_ That does sound like Stentor. _“Huh.”

“He’s been like that ever since Nikolaos disappeared, and left his regiment to him. Funny—I’d have jumped at the chance to lead my own platoon,” Hektor said wistfully.

“What, being a polemarch isn’t exciting enough for you?”

Hektor reached up to brush aside the bangs that kept falling over his face. Frustrated, he finally swept back his hair in a single fluid motion. Miraculously, it stayed well in place. 

“Not under him, no. He insisted on going on that hunt, and look what that got him—nothing. And the moment he comes back, he just punches the help sent to us by Sparta. You’ll understand if I have my reservations.”

Kassandra perked up slightly and met his gaze. “Right. No deer.”

“Nothing.” Hektor shook his head, disappointment thick in his voice. “I think he’s going through something, _ misthios_. He hasn’t been the leader we expected so far. I don’t know if he’ll ever be fit enough to be.”

Kassandra hummed thoughtfully, and returned her gaze to the path leading back into the forest. The sky was darkening now, and shadows were beginning to converge in the dense woods.

*

Night was falling when she finally located her last mark. Ikaros screeched warningly as she emerged from the forest and into a clearing that ended off a cliff. Even in the dim light, she could make out the unmistakable Spartan armour, grey wolf fur that instantly made her think of Megaris, of the last conversation she’d ever had with a certain—

“Nikolaos?”

The Spartan ignored her and instead focused on what he was doing: pinning the last champion of Boeotia to the ground with one hand and another captured around the hilt of his sword, raised high in the air. A quick, jerking motion and the woman struggling beneath his grip went limp, a river of blood bursting forth and spilling onto the grass and rock beneath her. 

An invisible force guided her legs to action. She took very large steps to cross the gap between them, and when Nikolaos finally turned to face her she stopped in her tracks.

“I apologise. I was busy, as you can tell.” He indicated the dead woman behind him, now resting eternal in a pool of her own blood. “I did not expect to see you here, Kassandra.”

“I’m here on Pausanias’ orders. To fight for Sparta and take Boeotia.” Kassandra could not keep the disdain from her voice, even as she began to notice new lines on Nikolaos’ face. He’d clearly been through a lot on his own—even the worn look of his armour was a good enough indication. Had he simply just been walking ever since Megaris, all the way into Boeotia?

“I see. Then you’ve probably seen Stentor by now.”

“Seen him?” Kassandra resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “He and I had a very intense reunion. You’ve been watching him, haven’t you?”

Nikolaos sheathed his sword and took the chance to look away briefly. “He is still my son, even if I can never show my face again before Sparta.”

“You left him.” Kassandra squeezed her hands into fists. “And he’s not taking it well. He’s been lashing out at his men, never mind my perpetually broken nose. What are you going to do about it?”

“He is his own man now. He has been for a long time. There is nothing to be done.”

“Don’t give me that. You’re his father, Nikolaos.”

“Father,” he muttered. “Am I still one, after what I did to you, Alexios, and Myrrine on Mount Taygetos?”

“No. You don’t get to do this self-pity thing right now.” Kassandra took a deep breath and attempted to calm the tempest inside her. “You need to be there for him. And I won’t tell you again that you shouldn’t fail your children another time.”

And then she was gone, hurtling back into the woods and hoping the shadows would grant her enough cover so Nikolaos could not look at her for a second longer.

*

“So, you’ve finished the job.” Stentor was sneering again. Kassandra calmed the violent thoughts that surfaced in her mind as she made her way over to where he waited by the large tent.

“Yes. And now we can fight for Boeotia—if that wound on your leg isn’t getting in the way.” She crossed her arms as he bristled on the spot, as though she’d just lied about the very obvious bandage rolled tight around his thigh.

“It’s _ fine_,” he hissed, and took several uneven steps past her and knocked roughly into her shoulder as he made his way out.

She watched his back as he fumed in silence, his heaving silhouette caught against the moonlight that spilled on the outside. For a moment she thought he might just turn around and say something, but nothing. And then he trudged off without another glance, lost to himself and to Kassandra.

Moments later, Hektor appeared by the entrance to the tent. “Eagle Bearer. We’ve got dinner ready by the fire.”

Kassandra waved weakly at him. “No thanks. I’ll just take a walk, if you don’t mind.”

“You’re sure?”

“I fight better when I’m hungry.” She smiled. “Go.”

His lips curled, pleasant, and then he was gone. And once Kassandra was sure he’d gone back to join the rest of the regiment by the campfire that was now blazing and burning at full height, she headed off in the opposite direction, towards the soldiers’ sleeping area.

There were bedrolls out in the open and various tents set up just by the infirmary. Kassandra took light, quick steps as she headed for the largest one caught in the center of them all, bathed in moonlight. 

She didn’t know why she was headed for Stentor’s tent, but something had been nagging at her ever since he’d shown himself to be injured and limping.

_ It must be a coincidence. _It was all she told herself as she made her approach.

She slipped through the tent flaps noiselessly. Stentor didn’t have that many belongings—only another set of armour laying about, an array of weapons that ranged from daggers to a prized sword, and a half-opened satchel that sat on the ground as though lying in wait for Kassandra. 

She spotted something like papyrus sticking out of it, inviting as all hell, and bent over to reach for it.

She rose to full height as she unfurled the letter.

Almost immediately, she wished she hadn't.

_ Here is your true assignment—and your final trial. _

_ Kill the Wolf of Sparta. _

_ You have a place … with us. _

“Kosmos,” she breathed. Her hands began to tremble and so did the letter, as though it was afraid of its own truth.

*

The battle went by in a blur. Stentor had chosen to fight despite the injury in his leg and showed himself to be a warrior as stubborn and as skilled as Nikolaos had been. Kassandra recognised her father’s signature moves in the motions of Stentor’s onslaught on hapless Athenian soldiers. It was hard to forget things that had been drilled into you.

She cleaved through waves and waves of Athenians, willing herself not to think of Nikolaos anymore, and advanced with Hektor at her side until the blue ocean of Athens receded before the fire of Sparta.

Shouts and cheers were beginning to rise up into the air as the battlefield cleared up. Several soldiers were making their rounds and stabbing into every fallen Athenian body they saw. Stentor stood stark at the center of it all, leaning on his spear and catching his breath.

“You really put every other _ misthios _ to shame.” Hektor was grinning at her. “It’s been an honour, Eagle Bearer.”

Kassandra clapped him roughly on the back.

“Could say the same for you. Now, let’s see about getting some food.”

They returned to camp together with the rest of the regiment. Other Spartan soldiers began to acknowledge Kassandra’s presence now, eager to rub shoulders with the _ misthios _with an eagle—and the reason they’re able to return home to their loved ones intact. One asked her for permission to pet Ikaros. Another was asking her to show them her deadliest move.

Stentor watched her with undisguised, seething jealousy—if the cruel curl of his mouth indicated anything at all. She met his gaze, remembering the dark letter she’d discovered the previous night, and did not look away.

The sun was hanging low, and the sky was turning orange—then blood red. It seemed as though their quiet warfare had caught the attention of the gods, and they were reacting similarly to what was happening.

They walked side by side like this until they arrived at the camp. As the Spartans began to disperse, murmuring among themselves, Stentor pointed his spear at Kassandra.

“Let’s end this now, Eagle Bearer.”

Kassandra ground to a halt, and so did Hektor. “What,” she said darkly, “do you want, Stentor?”

“Precisely what you think I’m asking for. A fight to the death.” He sneered. “I’ve had enough of you, _ misthios_. You took my father from me. And now you take my glory.”

“The last time a Spartan man said that to me, that argument ended with a blade through the chest,” Kassandra said warningly. “Now put that spear away, Stentor.”

“Fuck you,” he growled.

Hektor slid into view and placed himself between Stentor and Kassandra, sandy hair fluttering slightly in the gentle wind. Kassandra moved to clap a hand on his shoulder, but he wouldn’t budge when she tried to pull him aside.

“That’s enough, commander,” Hektor said gently. “We’ve already won. There’s no need—”

Stentor grunted and jerked his arm forward, bringing the spear right through Hektor’s torso. It pierced roughly through his armour and out his back, and Kassandra unwittingly retreated a step as she saw the bloodied tip of Stentor’s spear emerging to greet her. 

A hush had fallen over the Spartan encampment. No one made a move—not towards Hektor, who was struggling to stay upright on his own two feet and bleeding everywhere, and most certainly not Stentor himself, manic and wide-eyed.

Hektor choked audibly, bringing his hands up to grip at Stentor’s spear. The sound was harsh and wet.

“Commander…”

“If you stand in my way, you’re a traitor too.” Stentor yanked his arm back in one savage motion and freed Hektor from his weapon.

The polemarch fell into a pool of his own blood, twitching weakly as he clumsily pressed both hands over his gaping wound. He turned on his back and looked up at Kassandra, wide-eyed—

She moved past him, anger taking hold of her at last, and drew her dagger. “What the _ fuck _did you just do, you fucking—”

“These are _ my men! _My Spartans, Eagle Bearer! Not yours!” Stentor readied himself into a defensive stance, spear still dripping with Hektor’s blood. “None of this is yours for the taking. So stop fucking taking it!”

“Where did you get that limp, Stentor?” Kassandra asked darkly, circling him as he circled her. “Was it a bear? A wolf? Were you caught somewhere you weren’t supposed to be?”

Recognition lit up in his eyes. “You think you know everything.”

“I think I do.” Kassandra’s voice took on an edge. “So how about it Stentor? Are you going to finish the job?”

“Don’t think I won't spill your filthy blood all over—”

“Enough!”

A third voice cracked through the air like a whip. The Spartan soldiers who had gathered around Kassandra and Stentor instantly parted, an ocean of red, revealing Nikolaos in their midst.

He stepped forward and curled a hand tightly over Stentor’s spear, pushing it down and away from Kassandra until it dug lightly into the soil.

As though struck, Stentor stepped back and dropped his spear. There was a heavy look in his eyes as fixed his gaze on his father. He seemed to be wearing his dark intention all over his face, and Kassandra's fingers twitched along the hilt of her dagger.

Nikolaos’ gaze was as sharp as steel. He looked between Stentor and Kassandra, hands clasped behind his back, and appeared as a reprimanding teacher before two wayward students.

“That is _ enough_.”

*

“Nikolaos,” Kassandra whispered harshly, “You shouldn’t be here.”

“You say one thing, then another entirely.” Nikolaos leveled her with a narrowed gaze, questioning. “Why, Kassandra?”

Stentor had retreated out of sight not long after the Wolf’s return. Their soldiers knew enough to hold themselves back from prying or interrupting, and a handful had gathered around to clean up Hektor’s body and wrap it in linen. Kassandra’s heart clenched darkly at the sight, and she willed herself to look away and back at Nikolaos instead.

“You’re in danger. Stentor—” Kassandra sucked in a breath through gritted teeth, pausing. “This won’t sound good no matter how I say it. He’s going to kill you, Nikolaos. He’s one of the Cult.”

Nikolaos’ gaze softened, and his posture lost some of its rigidity.

“I know,” came his quiet admission.

He might as well have shouted it for all the camp to hear. Kassandra moved to grip him tightly along the forearm and jerked, once. 

“What do you mean,” she hissed, “you _ know? _”

Nikolaos sighed. “I’ve known for a while. That is why I’ve been watching him. Following. All this time.”

“And you didn’t think to just _ mention _it when we met?” Kassandra drew back, releasing his arm. 

“You’d kill him before he got the chance to prove himself,” Nikolaos said.

“To prove himself to be a cold-blooded murderer, is that it?” Kassandra swore under her breath. “I think we’ve already had a good view of that, don’t you?” Hektor’s face swam in her mind. Yet another ghost to add to her collection of very haunting spectres.

“I believe he’ll do what’s right. He’s my son. I raised him.”

“And that turned out so well!”

“Kassandra.” His brows drew together in sorrow. “I will never be able to take back what I did on Taygetos. But I have a chance now to do right by my child again—even if that child isn’t you.” He met her hard gaze, taking in her expression. “I need you to trust me this time, that I won’t destroy another family member.”

Kassandra’s lower lip quivered against her will. “Alright,” she said quietly. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is what I want. I cannot fail again.”

She huffed softly, looking away for a moment. She could feel Nikolaos’ gaze burn into the side of her face as she said, “_Mater _ is alive. I found her on Naxos. And now she is in Lakonia.”

Nikolaos breathed in. “Myrrine…?”

“I found her, and she is alive.” Kassandra turned away and began to walk. “Find us when you’re ready. I won't ask you again.”

*

It was quiet in the morning after. 

There was no more sparring, no more shouts of exertion in the aftermath of war. Kassandra stepped out into the open, squinting against the sun, and saw Spartan soldiers moving at a glacial pace. They were converging near the strategy tent, and a strange whisper was making its way through their ranks as Kassandra followed them.

She squeezed past the wall of Spartans that had formed a curious perimeter around something of interest.

Their murmurs began to surge like an ocean wave—and it all washed over her when she saw what they were standing around.

Nikolaos’ glassy eyes were peering straight up into the sun. His open mouth was perpetually frozen, as though he’d died in shock. Pinning him to the ground was a spear, caught in the center of his chest. Beneath his unmoving form, blood had seeped into the grass and soil and bloodied the land where he lay. It was something like out of a nightmare.

Their conversation from the night before rushed at her like a slap to the face. She remembered the look in his eyes, the declaration of belief, so foolishly misplaced—and she’d believed him. She gave him trust where she should have protected him.

Her hands began to quake.

Unwittingly, a question formed in her chest and carved its way out of her throat.

“Where,” she growled at those around her, “is Stentor?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all came for Kassandra/Aspasia sexiness but I gave you guys extraneous context to characters like Stentor and Deimos. Sorry. I'll be good. Our ladies will reunite in a couple more updates, I promise. I miss them too.
> 
> Also I can't pronounce 'pteruges.' No one can. I'm almost 100% certain.


	25. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What are you going to do now, Kassandra? What will you do, now that you know?

The skies over Lakonia were overcast. A heavy wind swept itself over the rolling plains and seemed to spill everywhere: across the sighing forests of Sparta, over the arching form of Taygetos, and deep into Kassandra’s chest. 

They were tucked away in a secluded clearing that overlooked the river Eurotas and its sparse forest. Years ago, Myrrine had reflected, he too ran through those trees, chasing wolves and an unavoidable destiny - so it seemed fitting that he returned here.

That, and it wasn’t wise to try and bring him home. Kassandra knew they would never have gone unnoticed, much less a burning, blazing pyre for all to see. Nikolaos had become a runaway himself and would receive no honour. Pausanias, too, would have his eyes everywhere.

Kassandra sighed.

She was tightly gripping Nikolaos’ spear in one hand and his shield close to her side with the other. The body belonging to the man she once called _ pater _rested on the wooden altar she’d built. There was a strange serenity to his expression now that his eyes were closed, and Kassandra found it difficult to look away. 

Myrrine was carefully wrapping Nikolaos in clean linen, hands moving carefully as though rougher movement would somehow stir the Wolf of Sparta from sleep. Her fingers moved deftly to secure his body where it laid, and finally Myrrine touched a hand over his brow lightly to offer a silent farewell.

Brasidas reemerged from the woods with a torch, lit and ready.

Kassandra heard the soft sound of Myrrine’s murmurs, completing his last rites. And then Brasidas was exchanging the shield in her grasp with the torch in his.

She took slow steps towards the altar and touched flame to wood. Nikolaos slept through it all, the eventuality of fire catching on his skin, his armour, and finally consuming the entirety of his face. In a matter of minutes, he was gone, and in his place was a bright, burning thing.

Thunder rumbled lightly over their heads. She felt the gentle weight of Myrrine against her side, and automatically reached around her mother to hold her close.

“Oh, Nikolaos,” Myrrine said softly.

“He was a good man.” Brasidas came to stand beside Kassandra, wielding the Wolf’s shield. “May the ferryman take him safely across the Styx.”

_ He died a fool, _Kassandra thought bitterly. But she held her thoughts to herself, and held Myrrine even closer.

The memory of Stentor’s treachery was still fresh and raw in her mind. Kassandra looked deeply into the flames that had all but swallowed Nikolaos whole and imagined shoving the traitor’s face into it. There would be no other recourse, she thought, but death. A life for a life.

Nikolaos had given him life, after all. _ And Stentor repaid it with death. _

They stood there until the funeral pyre reduced itself to ashes, ember breathing lightly, and ducked away into the forest when it began to drizzle. Kassandra felt herself burning all over as she led her mother and Brasidas back down to the forest below, the sensation made more apparent by the icy drops of rain that pelted gently against her skin.

Spartan boys were darting between trees, shouting at each other to pick up the pace and get out of the rain. Kassandra followed numbly, allowing their voices to guide her, and barely registered the gentle murmurs behind her. Brasidas was saying something to Myrrine, and then her mother responded in an equally low voice. Something about home. Something about reclamation.

Kassandra realised belatedly that she wanted nothing of the sort. Her hand twitched over the dagger that hung off her belt, fingers running lightly over the engraving that bore her title.

Somewhere deep in her chest was an ache that threatened to pull her apart. A vision of dark curls falling across equally dark eyes surfaced in her mind. A slender smile. Gentle hands, roving up her shoulders and then her neck--

She blinked the daydream away when Nikolaos’ home came into view.

It looked familiar and foreign, all at once. Myrrine was pushing the door open tentatively, as though expecting something on the other side to jump out at them. Brasidas was politely keeping out of the way.

There was nothing, of course. Nothing but darkness. Everything had been left the way Kassandra remembered before the Pythia and her elders had come to snatch her away. This was someone else’s home now.

She followed after Myrrine, who was pulling out a chair at the old family table. Her mother looked up as she appeared through the doorway, uncertain and exhausted.

“Lamb?”

Kassandra swept her gaze across her surroundings. Echoes of a happier childhood jumped out at her from dusty corners. If she tried hard enough, she’d hear Alexios’ shrill cries filling the entire room.

“I need to end this,” she finally said. “I have proof. Pausanias--”

“Will die this day,” Myrrine finished for her. The uncertainty left her mother suddenly, and she was moving across the room to capture Kassandra in a quick embrace.

“Come,” her mother was saying, “We will demand an audience with the kings immediately.”

Kassandra folded her arms around Myrrine, nodding mutely into the curve of her neck.

*

The _ ephors _were only five, but their mere presence made the Spartan kings pause. Archidamos started out of his seat as Kassandra made her approach with Myrrine by her side. Pausanias’ eyes narrowed into slits, dark and suspicious, but made no move to rise to his feet. There was an invisible weight to the air pressing down on every single person in the throne room of Sparta.

Kassandra, on the other hand, stepped lightly. In her grasp was Lagos’ letter.

Archidamos leveled her with a questioning look. “You summoned the _ ephors_, Eagle Bearer? I will know why.”

“I bring reports of victory from Elis and Boeotia,” Kassandra said, gaze flickering over to Pausanias, “and to also bring serious charges against a king.”

The warrior king bristled and briefly turned to Pausanias, who said nothing. Slender hands were gripping at the throne’s armrests. In the firelight, his knuckles were turning white.

“Speak plainly now,” Archidamos demanded as he turned away from the other king.

“We bring grave charges against King Pausanias,” Kassandra gestured with an open palm, “I’ve unearthed some damning proof from my travels across Spartan lands, my king. It would seem they all point towards him being part of the Cult of Kosmos.”

Pausanias finally rose to his feet, releasing his death grip on the throne. He only had eyes for Kassandra now, taking slow steps to meet his accuser. A scowl was carving its way into his young, fox-like face.

“How dare you raise such accusations against a _ king_.”

Kassandra paid him no heed and instead turned to one of the _ ephors_. He was a wizened, grey-haired man dressed in modest Spartan finery - Myrrine had introduced him as the leader of Gytheion, Kassandra remembered. He extended a hand wordlessly as she approached, and retrieved the letter from her.

“Proof,” Kassandra said with her back turned to the kings, “of my serious claim.”

The village leader unfurled it. His eyes darted back and forth with precision, and his expression darkened into something grave and final. He went around briefly to his colleagues and showed them the truth, and one by one their faces were eclipsed by similar shadows.

Kassandra turned back to Pausanias, whose scowl seemed permanently twisted into his face.

“So it is true,” the _ ephor _said darkly. “Who would have thought a king could be capable of such dishonour.”

Archidamos started slightly, and glanced at Pausanias with wide eyes.

“Honour,” Pausanias snarled, “is for history. And you are all standing on the wrong side of that history.”

“Hardly. Pausanias, you are hereby exiled from Sparta and stripped of kingship.” The village leader stepped forward heavily. “You will leave Sparta and never show your face again.”

Archidamos reached out as the _ ephor _handed him the same letter. He crushed it in one strong hand after consuming its contents, and rounded on Pausanias.

“You disgrace all of Sparta.”

Pausanias took several languid steps back. “Temper, old fool.” Spartan guards flanked him on either side and captured both his arms in a steel grip. “Now Sparta rests on your shoulders alone. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

They tugged him along and he moved with jerking steps past Kassandra and Myrrine. Cold fury captured every line of his body and burned deep in his eyes as he looked upon the Eagle Bearer.

“You will regret this, Kassandra. You and your foolish brother, dogs to the very--”

Myrrine struck him across the face with an open palm. Pausanias’ head snapped wildly to the right as he hissed in pain. 

“You will leave with your last shred of dignity, or you will not leave at _ all_.”

His laugh echoed throughout the throne room as they dragged him out into the open. Kassandra turned to Archidamos, fingers twitching around the hilt of her dagger. He was clasping his hands behind his back as he brushed past the _ ephors_, and exchanged a brief glance with Myrrine.

“He says we are on the wrong side of history,” the old king said tiredly, “but I think otherwise. You have both earned your citizenship--and much more--in your service to Sparta. It shall not easily be forgotten.”

Kassandra looked to the path outside, where Pausanias had disappeared with his captors, and then back to the king and Myrrine.

“Thank you, my king,” Myrrine said, already moving to touch a hand to Kassandra’s forearm as she departed, “We shall leave the court to its business.”

“Of course.” Archidamos’ shoulders sank slightly as he watched them leave, and turned back to two empty thrones.

Outside, Myrrine’s voice dropped considerably. “It would be wise to deal with Pausanias as quickly as possible.”

“I will.” 

Kassandra looked up; as if on cue, Ikaros materialised into view, wings flapping powerfully as he screeched down at her. He circled them overhead once, and then headed west--toward the forests. 

*

Tracking him was easy--an exiled king had no rights to a horse or his worldly possessions. Only the last dregs of dignity clinging to the end of his robes, now flecked with mud and dirt. 

He was a sorry sight against the backdrop of Sparta after the rain, running with jerking steps as though guided by invisible strings. Every so often, he would look over his shoulder and Kassandra would see fear stark across his features.

She emerged from the cover of the trees and onto the main path leading down to the village of Gytheion, giving chase. 

When he drew within arm’s length, he glanced over his shoulder again--and pivoted so suddenly that Kassandra barely had time to react. His arm moved in a dangerous arc, guiding a previously hidden dagger up towards her face with deadly intent.

Kassandra sidestepped his attack, taking his left flank, and squeezed her hand into a fist. She brought it up quickly to punch him in the face, and he swayed violently to the side. There was no precision or beauty to this dance, not for a disgraced king, and Kassandra advanced smoothly to seize him by the collar.

He twisted in her grip, still slightly off center, and pulled his blade towards her again. Deftly, she reached out with her free hand to capture his wrist and guided his weapon away from her face. She twisted his hand without warning and he dropped his dagger, anguished cry mixing with the awful sound of a wrist snapping. 

Releasing his now-awkward hand, the Eagle Bearer reached for her own blade and pressed it coolly to his throat.

“This is what you deserve,” she said darkly, and drew a red line across his neck, deep and pulsing. 

Pausanias choked wordlessly, closing a hand over her shoulder in an attempt to stay on his feet. But when she released him, he fell all too easily, hand sliding uselessly over the front of her chestpiece. It was a slow, agonising thing to witness. He brought a hand up to his throat, split open and gushing with blood, and writhed on the ground for what felt like forever. The royal finery that clung to him were now running damp and dark.

There was nothing dignified about a death like this. 

Kassandra watched him until he took his last shuddering breath and the path was running red, and then turned to head back home.

*

There was a shadow following her.

Kassandra felt the lingering presence over her shoulder as she trudged her way through the dark streets of Sparta, headed for home where Myrrine would be waiting. But there was something so strange about it, about how obvious it all was. Almost as if her pursuer wanted to be discovered. There was no finesse--the footsteps behind her were unconcealed, carelessly noisy. It was not the work of an assassin, that was for sure.

She finally stopped in the middle of the quiet street and turned around.

The shadow, it soon became clear, was a woman, with dark hair pulled up into a tight knot to reveal angular features and intelligent eyes. Kassandra recognised something in that face and posture, and the way she walked with certainty as though she was betting on the chance that the Eagle Bearer wouldn’t just rush her with her dagger.

“You’re no Spartan,” Kassandra said warily.

“Neither were you, once.” The woman opened her palms in a gesture of peace. “I am not here to harm you, Eagle Bearer.”

“And yet you’ve stalked me a long way since the forest. You wanted to be noticed.”

“I’m a friend, I assure you.”

“_Friends _ know each other’s names. You’ll have to excuse me if I’m not feeling very trusting right now.”

The woman nodded. “You’re right, of course. You may call me Iris.”

“Iris.” Kassandra crossed her arms, leaning her weight on one foot as she waited expectantly. “What do you want from me?”

“Nothing. But I have what _ you _want, Eagle Bearer.”

Kassandra’s gaze narrowed. “How could you _ possibly _know what I want?” 

The woman, Iris, came closer. Not once did she falter, even as Kassandra warningly dropped a hand to her belt where a dagger awaited release. 

“Your brother, Alexios.” Urgency stressed at her words, quick and brief as they were. “I know where he is. He’s hurt.”

Kassandra stiffened, forgetting about self-defense temporarily. “What... did you say?”

“It’s easier if I show you. Come with me.” 

Without waiting, Iris brushed past Kassandra and took a sharp turn, disappearing into a narrow path. The Eagle Bearer could do nothing but follow, led through the dark once more.

Past the amphitheatre laid a wide expanse of Sparta’s farmland where citizens lived humble farmers’ lives and toiled in the fields at the base of the mountains that guarded the region. Mud brick farmhouses laid claim to fertile plots of land for various Spartan families. One such house sat on the edge of the field just before the forest region. 

The forest rose like a wall of shadows, an ominous backdrop to whatever it was Kassandra was about to discover. And the house, upon closer inspection, was dilapidated and wore all the signs of long-time neglect; there had been no human activity here in a long time. The nearby field had been denied the prospect of a fruitful harvest, laying bare for all to see. 

This close to the wilderness, Kassandra suspected the threat of wolves might have had something to do with the desolate sight.

There was the unmistakable glow of firelight through the open window. Iris pushed the door open. She stepped inside before throwing a look at the Eagle Bearer over her shoulder, beckoning. With nothing much else to be done, Kassandra made her approach and stepped into the light.

Sitting with his back to the wall was Deimos, with his eyes closed and knees drawn up to his chest. Kassandra stopped abruptly when she saw the bruises that adorned his skin. His wrists were chafed raw; the bright redness to them told Kassandra that whatever happened to him had happened recently. Her stomach lurched with dark realisation as she stood by the doorway, drinking in the awful sight of his new scars and signs of stress across his arms and legs.

And then Iris was gliding over to his side, a hand outstretched. The barest touch on his shoulder woke him easily from slumber, and he took a moment to adjust and orientate himself to his surroundings. And then he was staring at Kassandra, lost somewhere between outrage and relief.

Brother and sister said nothing for a long time. Kassandra somehow located the will to move her feet and crossed the room to where he was. Deimos shifted away instantly, suspicion settling over his haunted face as he eyed her. She lowered herself onto the ground next to him but made no move to reach out. Instead, her voice was soft as she spoke, “What happened?”

He snarled at an untold recollection and looked away, wordless. Iris stepped forward.

“Pausanias tortured him. If I hadn’t found him, he would have been dead by now.”

A touch of anger descended on Kassandra, minimised only by the fact that she had already murdered the bastard responsible not so long ago. Yet the heavy, foreboding feeling didn’t depart from her. There was something hanging over their heads still. Slowly, Kassandra rose to her feet.

“I’ll run the risk of sounding ungrateful. Why _ did _you save him?”

“Anthousa sent me,” Iris said simply, as though that was the only truth. But something didn’t quite add up.

“And why would _ Anthousa _ be interested in my brother?”

“She lies.” Deimos coughed wetly as he leaned forward, still avoiding Kassandra’s gaze. He glared up at the woman. “Tell her the whole truth or _ I _ will.”

Iris’ expression flickered towards something more unknowable. She reached down to smooth her robes with both hands, taking her time with the act. The sight infuriated Kassandra.

“Anthousa provided me and my sisters to the task,” Iris said evenly, “but she did not give the order.”

“Who did?”

One dreadful moment passed, heavy, between them. Then Iris spoke her name, and the world came to a standstill.

*

The revelation tore at her in a way that could only be described as violating. There was a gaping wound somewhere indistinct, bleeding wide open, and Kassandra half-expected herself to collapse at any moment or fall apart where she stood.

The implication was clear. _ Wasn’t _it? 

Off to the side, Deimos was staring at her with a peculiar expression, waiting. When her hands began to quake, she rolled them into fists. 

“Of course it was her.” Kassandra heard her own voice as though she were someone else entirely--an outside observer, perhaps, looking in on the unfolding scene. And she was, in her mind, now asking herself feverish questions that seemed impossible to answer or silence. 

_ What are you going to do now, Kassandra? What will you do, now that you know? _

“You asked me on Mount Taygetos.” Deimos’ voice rose with meaning. “So, here is your ghost.”

Kassandra’s chest throbbed sharply. There was no stemming the tide, not when betrayal could cut so deep. _ Here is your ghost, indeed. _

“That is neither here nor there,” Iris cut in, a note of impatience surfacing in her words, “We were instructed to keep him safe for you, regardless of--”

“For _ her_,” Kassandra heard Deimos spit back, full of disdain. “I am not a pawn to be pushed around. And my _ sister _ is not my keeper. You can tell Aspasia _ that _ when you return.”

He struggled to his feet, back still pressed against the wall, and looked between the two women. 

Kassandra was clenching and unclenching her hands in silence. Iris’ face smoothed into careful neutrality as she took in Kassandra’s expression. “This is not what you think it is, Kassandra.”

The Eagle Bearer snapped her head up, feeling the last of her patience scatter. Inside her burned a flame, threatening to consume her whole. 

“And what _ exactly _is this? What could it be,” she hissed, “other than a game I’ve been playing for her?”

Deimos hovered at the corner of her vision. “You’re starting to understand. _ Good_.”

“This is no game,” Iris’ brows knit together darkly. There was a silent threat embedded in the glare she bestowed upon Deimos. “You may ask her if you wish, Kassandra. There will be no pretense. She wanted Deimos safe and out of Pausanias’ clutches.”

“To _ use _you,” Deimos snarled, turning his body towards Kassandra. “To pull at your strings. Do you not see?”

“Come to Korinth.” Iris spread her hands out, pleading. “And hear the truth for yourself.”

“Is that what you’re calling it?” Deimos said with a faint drawl, mocking. “Truth? As though she’s acting out of the goodness of her heart, when it was _ her _who turned Kosmos on itself in the first place?”

“You know nothing,” Iris’ gaze was cold when it settled over Deimos, “Consumed by your own hubris. Of course you would see her as an enemy if she takes away what you desire.”

“I _ deserve_\--I was forged in the flames of Kosmos!” He beat a fist to his chest. “I am the _ only one _fit to rule!”

“Then you are lost to madness like the rest of them. Your shortsightedness does you no credit.”

Deimos bared his fangs in a snarl and began to advance toward Iris. “How _ dare y_\--” But then Kassandra was wedging herself between them and pressing a hand against his chest, gaze filled with a deep, dark fury. When he pushed against her, he met with hard resistance--and a warning shove that kept him at bay.

“Don’t.”

His nostrils flared as he huffed. Then, reluctantly--miraculously--he drew away. Kassandra looked over her shoulder at Iris.

“I don’t have time to go to Korinth.”

“Fine. Then will you at least take my information?”

“And that is?”

“To stay away from Athens. An executioner’s axe awaits you, with men who want you dead and gone.”

Kassandra failed to keep a scowl from surfacing as she turned. “That’s not good enough. I need names. _ Specifics._”

“_Kleon_,” Deimos said suddenly, plain and quick. His face was unreadable when she glanced his way. “She means Kleon the Everyman, on his throne of lies. He means to kill us both--and the rest of our…” He paused. “_Your _family.”

“Myrrine is your _ mater _too, Alexios.” _And Nikolaos is dead._

“No.” Deimos’ voice grew distant. “_Mater _is somebody else. Far away. It’s an old pain.” There was a strangeness to his words, like he’d fished them out of some unknown, elsewhere place and tried to make them his own. It was unclear who he was speaking to at that moment. “Enough. No more.”

“Whatever the case may be,” Iris went on briskly, drawing her attention away from an unnaturally quiet Deimos, “You need to be careful.” 

“I always am,” Kassandra said stiffly, finding it near impossible to appreciate the sentiment she unearthed in those words.

The _ hetaera _ was moving gracefully towards the doorway, through which a chill wind had entered. Outside was an impenetrable darkness that offered no alternatives. Iris peered into it.

“Make sure of it, Eagle Bearer. She will not be pleased if you wind up dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S HERE................... 
> 
> I'm not entirely happy with it, but if I over-edit again.... I swear to God, I'll only finish this in 2030. We don't have time for that!!! (In all likelihood, once this fic is finished, I'll be doing a whole lot more editing. For now, please,,,,,, bear with me. Love u) Also, it's been a whole month since I started this thing. Wild


	26. This Long Road Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But just as quickly as Deimos had come, he was gone in an instant.

Deimos slept with a frown permanently creased over his brow. 

Every so often his lips would move, quivering beneath heavy, senseless uttering. He'd curled gradually into himself like an infant as the night wore on, and all Kassandra could do was watch him. Even in the dim light, the thin sheen of sweat over his features was obvious. 

There was something impossibly fragile about the way he looked right now, occupying the corner spot with his back to the wall and his fists curled close to his face.

She was positioned directly across from him, sitting beneath the open window with her back to the wall as well. She drew her knees up and rested her arms over them and let her hands dangle free. How long she'd been watching him, she couldn't quite say - only that she never once took her eyes off him since Iris disappeared into the night.

It was hard to ignore the traces of Nikolaos she found on his features, and even harder to pretend there wasn't a present, dull pang in the center of her chest as she remembered her late father. Another day, another ghost.

She leaned forward to hang her head and closed her eyes. Fatigue was descending upon her like a fog that held a terrible weight. She focused on the distant, heaving sound of Deimos' breathing. 

Her brother was here. He was _ here_, after all this time, yet all she could think about was Aspasia waiting for her in Korinth. What would she be doing right this instant? Waiting by the door? Shuttered away in a dark office, plotting her next move?

It was easy to picture her: dark curls framing an angular face and adding a terrible, beautiful depth to a pair of intelligent eyes. They were eyes that could see into anything—and then pull the truth from a person against their will. 

She would be seated with her back ramrod straight, and hands neatly folded over her lap. She would be perfectly poised. Composed. Devastating, in a quiet way.

It was harder picturing her as a killer. And yet...

_ Alexios is here_, a voice was pleading. _ Nothing else matters. _

Her brows drew low. The hazy vision of Aspasia lingered, still, and her chest ached sharply. She peered into the darkness behind her eyelids, the impenetrable unknown, and steadied herself with slow drawn breaths.

Sleep was a gentle hand on the shoulder, squeezing warmly at her. She didn't ignore its call this time.

*

_ This time, we’re sitting on the steps of the Parthenon. _

_ I can hear him humming—it’s a song I don’t recognise. His voice sounds far away, like an echo coming from across a great distance. But he’s right next to me, dark hair rippling in the wind and a half-smile hanging off his mouth. His blue eyes are sharp when they flicker over to me, but there’s none of that old hostility this time. _

_ In another life, under different circumstances, we might have been friends. But I’m holding my dagger in my hand—when did it appear?—and he’s twirling the blade he used to kill Phoibe in his. _

_ He smiles thinly. “Do you know where we are?” _

_ I scowl in response and refuse to answer him—we’re in Athens, of course. Where else could we be? _

_ As though discerning my thoughts just from the look on my face, Nicodemus shakes his head. _

_ “This is a turning point.” _

_ “You say that like it means anything to me.” _

_ “Doesn’t it? I can see it in your eyes.” _

_ As though his words hold some sort of force to them, I turn my head away. There is a strange, muted shadow settling over Athens. Dark clouds draw themselves over our heads, a thick layer of wool or some other. _

_ Suddenly, I am cold. _

_ “What will you do with her?” Nicodemus asks softly, after a long time. _

_ Something tugs and tightens in my chest. Her name is on the tip of my tongue, cursed and cherished, and I look down at the dagger in my hands. I see my own eyes looking back at me. _

_ “I don’t know,” I finally say. _

_ Nicodemus snorts without malice. “I know what I would do.” But he doesn’t offer the rest of his thoughts and instead falls silent. _

_ I look up at him and see a shadow falling over his face. “Who was she to you?” _

_ “Aspasia?” Nicodemus sets his dagger down beside him and draws his knees close to his chest. “Oh, she is many things. Surely you know this.” _

_ Irritation sparks at the back of my mind. “Don’t toy with me.” _

_ He hugs his knees and leans low to rest his chin over his arms. Then he tilts his head to look at me, mouth curling into a sad smile. _

_ “You know I can’t answer you.” _

_ “Why?” _

_ “Well.” He blinks, eyelashes fluttering. “None of this is real, Kassandra. I’m just a figment of your imagination. I am but a memory.” _

_ “None of this is what I remember,” I retort. _

_ “Hmm.” He lowers his gaze, blue eyes dimming. “You have a point. But you are not the one who gets to ask questions today.” _

_ I bite back a scowl. “So ask your questions before I decide I’m done with talking.” _

_ His eyes flutter to a close completely, and he is serene for a moment. He does not open his eyes as he speaks. “Do you hate her?” _

_ My heart clenches along with my fist, captured around the hilt of my dagger. _ Her _ dagger. The first gift she ever gave me. My shoulders sink beneath an invisible weight. _

_ “I don’t think I ever could,” I murmur. _

_ “Really?” Nicodemus hums a low, sonorous sound, as though in appreciation. “The mask falls to the ground and it is her face you see. You feel cold when she calls you by your name.” His blue eyes are bright when they reopen. “But you can’t help yourself, can you?” _

_ I turn the dagger over and over in my hands, slow. “What does it matter?” _

_ “Oh, it _ matters._” Nicodemus watches the movement of my hands, devoted to it. “You can only run for so long before it catches up to you, little eagle.”_

_I want to squeeze my hands around his neck. “Since when was my imagination this cryptic and annoying?” _

_ He laughs. “You have always been a deep thinker, even if you act ruthlessly with a weapon in your hand most of the time. She loves that about you. She thinks it’s endlessly fascinating. She wonders if you’ve changed since the last time you saw each other.” _

_ I abandon the dagger in my grip at last and return it to my belt. “Everything has changed.” _

_ “Do you always deal in absolutes?” Nicodemus raises himself back into an upright position. “Foolish. The world is not black and white. The men and women of Kosmos believe in their narrative as much as you do for yours.” _

_ “Spare me the lecture.” I am getting to my feet. A light drizzle washes over us both, and the chill wind is picking up. “I don’t have time to listen to you.” _

_ “You don’t have time to listen to me. You don’t have time to go to Korinth. You don’t have time to stop and think, because then you’d have to face the truth.” _

_ I descend the steps, unbothered. “And what is the truth now?” _

_ “You still think she’s worth dying for.” _

_ Lightning splits the sky in two. _

*

Deimos was watching her when she stirred out of deep slumber. 

She had somehow laid down on her side in the short time she'd been unconscious and communicating with Nicodemus' ghost. The last dregs of her dream were falling away like ash, and she blinked blearily at her brother while pulling herself up into a seated position once more.

His features twisted into a deeper frown as though it were a natural progression, though neither person had said anything yet. She crossed her legs and dropped her hands into her lap, waiting.

His gaze was unnerving. Unwavering. Not even a blink. Yet there were tired lines to his face that slipped in and out of view as shadows flickered over him. The lit candle was nearly finished with itself, firelight burning lower and lower as the night wore on and dawn approached.

"You talk a lot in your sleep," he said suddenly.

Kassandra straightened her back against the wall behind her. She couldn't quite keep the indignation from her voice as she said, "I could say the same for you."

His nostrils flared as he huffed, once. His mouth curled at one end. "We're not so different, are we?"

"That depends on how you look at things."

"Oh?" He turned his palms skyward. "But we're family. That's what you've been saying all this time, isn't that right?"

"You don't believe that."

His eyes flashed. "Of course I don't." He paused, and the harsh light in his gaze receded. "Why haven't you left yet?"

The question held a terrible weight. She shrugged it off--or tried to. "Where else would I be?"

"I don't know," he said stiffly and looked away. Gesturing at the door, he went on, "Out there, maybe. Burning everything to the ground."

"That's... not really the job description."

"You know what I mean. Half the cult's passed through the gates of Hades already." His gaze returned, now neutral. "You say we're not the same, but we're both killers. No matter how you look at things."

She pulled back a grimace, looking past his face and at the wall behind him. "We killed for different reasons."

"Is that what you tell yourself?"

"I'm not living in denial, Alexios. Unlike you with your grand vision of Kosmos, of ruling the world." She dared to meet his eyes, and saw that they were filled with anguish.

"Don't call me that," he spat.

"You weren't always Deimos." She leaned forward. "We were happy, once."

"Like that means anything to me. I was just an infant."

"You're right. But I'm here now."

He seemed to shrink into the darkness slightly. "You do not need me," he said softly.

"Don't say that."

"Then there is nothing else to say." He sniffed loudly, looking away. A beat passed between them. "Where will you take me now?"

Kassandra raised an eyebrow. "Why would you go anywhere with me?"

Deimos huffed harshly and looked to be somewhere between annoyance and genuine discomfort. Kassandra felt strangely blamed for it - whatever 'it' was.

"Well, I have nowhere else to be. And I was given to you, was I not?"

"You weren't so eager to come along when I first walked through this door."

He scowled visibly. "Why do you choose this time to be difficult?"

"Why don't you trust me?"

"I do not trust anyone." He looked askance, to the left, and the shadows shrouded his face from view. "So, where will we go?"

Kassandra worked her jaw as she tried to think of something to say. But there was no breaking through to him just yet, something told her. It felt like instinct. Or maybe it was one of those things that people often spoke about when referring to their sibling relationships.

Or, she was just reaching too hard for something that wasn't there.

"We'll go to _ mater_," she said quietly. Deimos' eyes widened, like he was unable to fathom the thought of it. "And then we'll see."

*

Dawn came slowly, and then all at once. 

The trek through the forest to their old family home was slower than Kassandra would have liked, but Deimos seemed to be perpetually veering back and forth between clarity and genuine loss, eyes cast upward into the trees as he trailed after her. There was no real conviction in his footsteps, and his arms hung loosely at his sides. 

It seemed as though he was pushing himself for no good reason, if the vacant look in his eyes was anything to go by.

Kassandra stopped every few steps to make sure he was still with her. He looked at her strangely every time she did, before settling back into the rhythm of their disjointed paces. They would never get too close, or Deimos would stop in his tracks entirely before Kassandra put herself at an acceptable distance.

She loathed the cult more than ever, at that moment.

Sunlight broke through the forest canopy like stars dotting the night sky. It was getting warmer now that night had come and gone. Soon, Spartans-in-training would populate these dense woods. Wolves would come out for the hunt. Everything was as it should be. 

But then they would arrive home—and then what?

They emerged into the open where the ground rose in a gentle slope, leading up to where Nikolaos’ home—_their _home—awaited. A shadow was withdrawing, releasing its hold on Lakonia, and Kassandra took the sloping path ahead of Deimos. 

At that moment, the front door swung open to reveal Myrrine, squinting against the rising sun. _ Home_, something sang with relief. And when Myrrine looked over at her daughter, Kassandra stepped aside, glancing at the one hovering behind her.

Her mother gasped. A fleeting second came and went, and then she was hurtling towards Deimos, eyes shining with fresh tears. “Alexios?”

To his credit, Deimos remained where he was. But he was stiff as a statue, even as Myrrine pulled him into an embrace. And then she was sobbing into his shoulder, arms wrapped tight around his neck. A hand came to the back of his head and stroked his matted hair, tender. Kassandra’s heart clenched at the sight.

“_Yes_.”

If she hadn’t been listening closely, Kassandra might have missed the whisper that had come from her brother’s lips. There was a strange expression settling over his face now. He leaned in, just a fraction of a movement, and Kassandra realised he was relaxing; the crease on his brow smoothed into neutrality—then, a flicker of emotion.

Myrrine was apologising. He listened with intent, uncharacteristically compliant, and when he looked up briefly Kassandra swore it might have been gratitude in his eyes.

Overhead, the skies were clear. Not a cloud in sight. Kassandra looked up and saw Ikaros drifting lazily in a comforting circle over their heads. It could have been any other day in another life, where the cult never existed and she never fell from the mountain all those years ago.

It was a peculiar feeling. She took a deep breath, then went to her mother and brother.

*

Brasidas showed up not two hours later, with news of war on his lips. Almost immediately, it seemed Deimos—_Alexios_, Kassandra reminded herself—took a dislike for the Spartan general. 

He made it known by hovering over his mother’s shoulder with a dark glare carved into his features as Brasidas entered through the doorway. There was that old rigidity to his posture now, with his arms crossed tightly over his chest—and that same, unsettling gaze from before. Brasidas took one glance at him. Recognition lit his expression. 

“I know you.”

“I don’t.”

“Well, now’s as good a time as any. I’m Brasidas.”

“I’m _ not interested_. Get out of my house.”

Brasidas whistled a low sound and looked askance at Kassandra. “You never told me he was such a charmer.”

Alexios took a step forward but never went further than that—not with Myrrine in the way. She gave him a single look and shook her head once. He bristled, then scowled at Brasidas. “I’ll show you _ charming_.”

“Nope. Stop that.” Kassandra looked from Alexios to Brasidas. Myrrine was shaking her head. “It’s too early for this nonsense, both of you. Now, Brasidas, what did you want?”

Brown eyes flicked over to her at last, the last of his humour fleeing. “The Athenians prepare for war in Pylos. I’ve come to tell you that you’re needed.”

“Is that all? You could have just sent a messenger.”

“I needed the morning exercise.”

“Uh huh.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Alexios growled, “Get a room.”

Brasidas burst into laughter, a deep and gruff sound. It came so suddenly that Alexios was momentarily fazed by it, and he drew back like a wary animal—though he said no more from that point forth.

“He’s a lot like you,” he said to Kassandra as he turned to leave. “Maybe we’ll get along someday, eh?”

When he was gone, Myrrine turned to Alexios. Her hands were going to her hips. There was a heavy shadow that pressed down on her brows. Kassandra knew the dance well. 

Alexios, on the other hand, had some catching up to do.

“We need to talk about your manners,” she said darkly. 

When Alexios turned to Kassandra, eyes wide with consternation, all the Eagle Bearer could do was shrug and walk out the door. Of course, she was going to have to pay dearly for that act of betrayal, but Myrrine would hold him off for some time yet. It was all the time she needed.

Brasidas disappeared down the path leading to the port, and she went over to where Nikolaos’ old weapon rack stood, unbothered by time and the changing seasons. An old spear was all he’d left behind. An echo of some distant time.

There were some leftover materials she needed to get to work. Her quiver was nearly empty as she set it aside. It would be a quick crafting session, nothing more, before she made for the port to meet with Brasidas. Then they would take the _ Adrestia _to Pylos and fall back into the usual rhythm of things. Often, that involved plenty of stabbing. She was fine with it.

The thought of Korinth nagged at her distantly. She pushed it away and focused on her hands.

Alexios emerged from the house not long after, looking awful—and also, awfully petulant. 

“So. How do you like our _ mater?_” Kassandra asked, cheery.

“She is…” Alexios paused heavily. “She’s something.”

She snorted.

“I was instructed to apologise to your friend.”

“Well,” Kassandra looked to the horizon. Wind was sweeping over the land, and the forests swayed with life. “You can probably do that when we come back from Pylos.”

“Hm.” Alexios cleared his throat, and stepped into view. His back was turned to her, hands clasped behind his back. Ringing his wrists was reddened, healing skin. His next words caught her by surprise. “I am coming with you.”

She set down the arrows in a pile. “No, you’re not.”

“You’re mistaken if you think I’m asking for your permission.”

“You’re not leaving Lakonia. Not in the state you’re in.” Kassandra’s voice softened as she added, “You’re not well, Alexios.”

He turned on her, swift. There was a harsh light in his eyes. “Do you think I don’t know that?”

She gestured roughly with a hand. “If you know—”

“You will _ not _leave me here,” he said sharply. There was a grave note in his voice that seemed to be seeping into his expression. “I am not a child to be looked after. I’m not that helpless thing—” His gaze darkened. For a moment, something stole the voice from him, and his lips parted wordlessly. 

Kassandra watched him, studying his face. Agony. Frustration. He seemed to be struggling with it, and attempted to resolve it by wringing his hands and holding himself together. She waited until he steadied himself, and returned to her.

“I’m not helpless,” he said again, quieter now. “If you leave me here, then I will be.”

She ran her hands down the length of her pteruges and stared into her lap for a moment.

“Fine.”

“Fine.” Alexios looked up, not understanding at first—then he blinked. “You mean it?”

“Yes. And I wish you wouldn’t,” Kassandra said flatly, “but I think I understand what you’re feeling. So you’ll come with me. And you won’t get yourself killed.”

His mouth curled into a little grin. “It takes a lot to kill someone like me.”

“So I’ve heard. A god amongst men, or so your old cultist friends liked to say.”

Alexios huffed through the nose and began to pace slowly. She reached for the cluster of arrows and stuffed them into the quiver hanging off the weapon rack, hearing nothing but the sound of his footsteps crunching over dead leaves.

“They feared me for a time. Every single one of them—even Chrysis, when she was still overseeing my education. All except one.”

Kassandra looked away from what she was doing. Instinct leaped from inside her. When Alexios turned to walk back towards her, he held a meaningful gaze.

“Aspasia,” she said softly.

Her brother slowed to a halt. “You want to know about her?”

Her voice was flat and void, suddenly. She felt as though she were someone else, listening in on the conversation. “Why would I want to?”

“Context.” Alexios kicked at the leaves, lowering his gaze. “Perhaps it will inform your decision on what to do with her.”

“Is this a peace offering?”

“This is whatever you say it is.” Alexios waited for a moment, but when no response came out of her, he went on, “She had only one goal at the beginning. Reformation.”

Kassandra’s mouth drew into a tight line.

“She would speak often about it. She would tell each of us that she knew what we desired, and that Kosmos would grant it to them. If only for reformation. In the face of a new world, born anew, we would have everything we wanted.” He began to pace up and down before her, voice distant and trance-like. Remembering. “War was a mere trifle. Aspasia saw past it and dared to look into a future that no one could be sure of yet.”

“Did she…” Kassandra worked her jaw. “Did she have a part in…”

“My education?”

“What they did to you.” The thought was bitter and hard to swallow, and solidified in the middle of her throat painfully. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“Ah,” his voice turned soft, “No. She did not.”

“Hmm.”

“She taught me how to read, once.” Alexios let out a breath. “But that’s all I remember. Most of the time, as you know, she resided in Athens with Perikles. Then one day she stopped turning up. She left a gaping hole. Power hung over our heads, free for the taking.” He bowed his head, eyes coming to a close. “So I seized it. That was nearly three years ago.”

_ Three years? I’d just come to Athens, _ Kassandra recalled inwardly. _ Phoibe… _She put an end to that thought and silenced it. Alexios was still speaking.

“And then everyone started to scramble for her leftovers. Kleon. Pausanias. You’ve dealt with most already, of course. I later learned the truth.”

“Which is?”

“She wanted reformation—_ours_, this time.” He appeared to be studying her. “A clean slate. Rebirth. You understand what I’m saying.”

She looked to the dagger at her side, then back at him. “I suppose I do.”

“_Suppose,_” he sneered, some of his old self returning to him. But just as quickly as Deimos had come, he was gone in an instant.

She couldn’t quite keep her next question to herself. “So, what happened to her?”

Alexios turned away from her to face the sun. The light seemed to lift away the years that had settled over his face. He was young, Kassandra realised with a start. And he looked so much like Nikolaos.

“I don’t know.” He stopped, then threw her a sideways glance. “You?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a million years! I’m sorry for the wait. Over the past week I’ve tried to write this maybe ten times over, and hated every iteration of it. Life is tough, guys. But here we are. I’m glad.


	27. A Prediction of Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For better or for worse.

The _ Adrestia _pushed away from the docks in the middle of the afternoon, after Myrrine had said her goodbyes to Kassandra and Alexios. There was something heavy on the wind. Kassandra stood beside her brother as they watched Lakonia shrink away, staring into her mother’s eyes until she could stare no longer. 

The Aegean thrashed and rippled all around them. Poseidon breathed life into their sails. 

So that was that. They’d left home to go to war.

Barnabas was making his rounds, checking on every pair of hands that worked above deck. There were no signs in the sky that things would go awry, but he kept at it regardless, pacing up and down and directing the occasional, wayward sailor back on track. His voice was sharp, whiplike, and kept everyone focused for the long voyage ahead.

His vigilance gave Kassandra plenty of space to drift away with her thoughts. Unwittingly, she turned her eyes northeast, where Lakonia was now a dark blip on the horizon. She looked past Sparta, or tried to. By her side was Alexios, openly reading her. 

“You don’t want to go to Pylos.”

“What,” she said shortly. She tore her gaze from the horizon and fixed it on her brother instead. When she looked, he appeared windswept and fresh-faced for what was likely the first time since Kassandra had found him in that dusty old house. “Of course I want to—”

“No. You wanted to go to _ Korinth_. And if that Spartan hadn’t come knocking—”

“His name is Brasidas.”

“—you would’ve left to find her.”

A weight settled over her brows. She tossed a wayward glance down at the waves. “It doesn’t matter. We’re on course for Pylos. We’re going to do our job.”

“I don’t understand why you’re so fixated on her, of all people,” said Alexios. She could still feel the heat of his gaze on the side of her face. “Especially after what you’ve discovered.”

“If only I saw everything in black and white the way you do.”

“Her cult tearing our family apart is not black and white enough for you?”

She clapped a hand over the rail. Her grip tightened as she spoke, “And since when did you start to care about ‘our family’? If I recall, you were trying to kill me not _ too _long ago.”

Alexios’ eyes narrowed when she looked his way. “Don’t you pin this on _ me_. I may not know you very well, _ sister_, but I know what lashing out looks like. You’re struggling with the truth.” His head tilted. “You’re afraid of who you’ll become if you see her again.”

“I’m not afraid of her.”

“No,” he shook his head. “Look at yourself. You’re terrified you can’t go through with your vengeance. And you don’t know what it means.”

Kassandra took a deep breath, nostrils flaring. She turned away. “And you know better?”

“I don’t know more than you do. But I know that this is her effect on people like you,” he said, “and people like Perikles. I _ have _seen it firsthand.”

She peered into the rolling waves, watching them crash into an eruption of sea foam against the side of the _ Adrestia. _The king’s name was an old, familiar thing that brought along with it no small amount of wistfulness—and a touch of grief against the soul. She pictured the faces of Sokrates and Alkibiades in her mind. Was there even an Athens left to return to?

“It was my choice,” Kassandra said slowly, “as much as hers.” She opened up her palms and looked into them, lost. 

“I don’t doubt that. But you should know, at least, that she intended for it to happen.”

Her palms disappeared into two tight fists. She blinked, trying to make sense of his words. Confusion settled like a thick fog, slow, over her mind. “You’re… saying… what?”

There was a pregnant pause, punctuated by the _ Adrestia _ suddenly lurching over a particularly troublesome wave. “You remember the man, Nicodemus?”

The sea breeze thinned and dropped in temperature, all of a sudden. A sign of rain? Or was it owed to the strange, internal chill that had risen within her like a smoky trail at the mention of this man’s name? 

Either way, Alexios now had the fullness of her attention. 

He went on when Kassandra remained quiet, “The year you returned to Athens, he reached out to me to seek a…” He turned away. “A partnership, of sorts. He had been waiting for you.”

“_Malake._” Kassandra couldn’t keep the edge out of her voice. Pain that had burrowed itself into the cracks of her spirit. It bled into bone. “Somehow I’m not surprised.”

“We were to make the final push together,” said Alexios. “He lured Perikles to the Parthenon that day. Without him, Aspasia would be defenseless—and then for you—”

“He killed Phoibe.”

Their eyes met. “And that performance, too. He wouldn’t stop talking about it.” Alexios shook his head. “He was so angry.”

“About what?”

“That Aspasia put him up to the task, and then placed a mark over his head when it all went wrong.”

The revelation cracked like a whip in the air between them. “She _ what._”

Alexios blinked at her, a frown creasing his brow. “You are not as stupid as you want me to believe. Think about it. Who else could have seen you with her, who else could have known to spin a story that would consume the people’s minds? Who else,” he said, “but her?”

She drew back. _ Impossible. _“What was the point of all that,” she hissed, “if she wasn’t going to see it through to the end?”

“I do not think she expected to actually like you.” His mouth twisted into a bitter smile. A shadow of Deimos flickered across his expression. “She picked Nicodemus when I went against her. And he was vicious and he was eager. He did what she needed him to do.” Alexios gave his sister the once-over. “And then, all of a sudden, she only had eyes for you. How do you think that would make a man feel?”

Kassandra was clenching and unclenching her fists, drawing away from the rail completely. She took a few steps, tentative. “So he defected. He tried to run away.”

“In a way,” Alexios’ voice was grinding, now, “He wanted revenge. But then he took a lover in the dark, an Athenian general. By then he’d already played into Kleon’s hand, and Kosmos had torn itself up into different little factions. And Kleon was not pleased. You know how we—” he paused, expression twitching briefly, “—_they _are with their secrets. And then… you killed that Athenian man.”

“Kleon gave me that job,” Kassandra muttered. The name held a sickly weight and a sour taste. 

“Kleon,” Alexios agreed darkly, and said no more.

She sucked in a breath and exhaled with a curse. “Kosmos is a fucking mess.”

“I see that now,” said Alexios, voice soft with distraction. He turned his gaze out to sea, observing something indistinct with hands folded behind his back. “So what will you do, when you see her?”

“What do you think I should do?”

Alexios huffed, actually amused. “You won’t like my answer.”

She followed the line of his gaze and watched the sun sinking low, its muted light receding as the seconds passed. 

The _ Adrestia _groaned like a sea monster in its own right, oars plunging into strong currents without faltering. She could hear the grunts and shouts of her men and women working below deck, tearing bravely into what lay ahead—for better or for worse. She looked up at powerful, billowing red sails—then at Ikaros, who easily kept pace with the ship.

There was suddenly an inevitability to everything around her. Kassandra looked back at her brother, whose expression had softened into neutrality. The lines of his anger and bitterness had faded, it seemed. He leaned forward against the rail and turned his head to meet her gaze, questioning.

“I’m going to make this right,” she heard herself say against the harsh, furious sound of a roiling sea.

Alexios grunted softly, then looked away. In the distance, a shadow was creeping its way across the sky, chasing after the disappearing sun.

*

There was tension thick in the air, perpetuated by no less than the storm brewing over their heads the next day. 

The ground seemed to rattle every time a roll of thunder came around. But Spartans were a people made for war; not a single soldier paid any heed to the greying skies. They flitted back and forth with mechanical purpose, an ocean of red and gold that surged unceasingly.

Kassandra felt her spirits buoyed by the sight. She put herself to work, more than happy to busy herself, and found herself shoulder-to-shoulder with some of Sparta’s best. Brasidas’ regiment was unlike that of Stentor’s, which had only been loosely held together by the sheer will of a choice few. 

There was an energy to things here. So powerful it was that when a commotion had broken out all of a sudden in the middle of the afternoon, it did not go easily unnoticed, if at all.

Kassandra dropped what she was doing—she’d been hauling firewood and kindling with a couple of young men—and followed some others who were gravitating toward the disruption. She could hear angry shouts and grunts, and the sharp scuffle of armored bodies clashing. Familiar voices. Instinct told her to move faster.

She cut through the murmuring crowd, pushing past Spartan after Spartan. Her eyes widened when she saw Brasidas looking up at her from the ground, dust caking his arms and legs, held in a deadlock by none other than Alexios.

“_Malake, _what are you two—” Alexios squeezed his arms around Brasidas’ neck, and her friend’s face appeared to turn purple and red. He gasped something unintelligible, and Kassandra stepped forward to wrench them apart to no avail. She yanked at her brother's arm, taut with exertion. Her brother, who was now breathing smoke and fire and possessed a harsh light in his eyes that she hadn't seen in a while. “Are you mad, Alexios?!”

“He started it,” he growled. Brasidas was clawing at his arms, directing a glare up at both of them. “I tried to be nice. And then he had to overstep his boundaries.”

“We—were—_sparring._” Brasidas began to wheeze. “Went—nuts.”

“You’re going to kill him!” she said harshly. 

“That’s the fucking point,” Alexios’ voice shook as he stared up at her, “He wanted to challenge Deimos, so _ Deimos _is what he gets.”

Suddenly she was in the Parthenon again, staring up at a stranger who wore her brother’s face, standing atop the dais, with an arm locked around Perikles’ open, bleeding throat.

“You’re _ not _Deimos,” she answered back, ignoring the chill taking hold of her. 

Alexios’ eyes widened. For a moment, his grip went slack. Brasidas took one loud, shuddering breath. “No?”

She touched a hand to his forearm and gripped _ tight_. “No.” 

Alexios growled at her in response, the dark shadow flickering back to life in his expression, and resumed his death grip. 

Brasidas choked out a horrible sound, legs kicking desperately in the dust. Alexios held her gaze for a second longer, seemingly unconvinced, before releasing his captive in one savage motion and thrusting him to the ground. For a moment, it looked like it was over. Kassandra learned quickly to never assume the best.

The Spartan general moved with startling agility for a man who’d just almost been choked to death, rolling back onto his feet. There was a glint in his eyes, a huge tell that Kassandra noticed immediately. When Alexios turned his back to him, dusting himself off, Brasidas moved.

He lunged at Alexios. But his opponent only sidestepped him, pivoting with ease to greet the side of his face with a clenched fist. The sound was sharp and sickening. And then Brasidas was tackling him right in the torso, swift as the wind. The two men fell back onto the ground in a tangle of limbs. The crowd of Spartan soldiers rippled and surged on all sides. Kassandra swore out loud and stepped in once more to separate them.

She wound an arm around Alexios’ waist while the other kept his arms from flailing about, and several soldiers jumped in to help Brasidas back on his feet.

Alexios was snarling, teeth flashing white. “You think you can take me? Think again, Spartan dog!”

“You’re _insane_,” Brasidas bit back, blood dribbling down over his mouth and chin. “There is no place for you on the battlefield!”

“Brasidas!”

“You know I’m right!” Brasidas turned his anguished gaze on her now. He pointed at Alexios in one powerful gesture. “Look at him. He’s not fit for war. He’s not fit to be here!”

Alexios nearly succeeded this time in breaking out of his sister’s grasp, more likely offended at the way Brasidas was pointing at him than anything else. She dug her heels into the ground and held him firmly in place, though her arms were by now screaming with exhaustion. Alexios was well-built and proved to be more than she could handle, and when he surged with anger, he was nearly impossible to rein in.

“Say that to my face!”

“With blades drawn?” Brasidas strained against the grip of his own men. “_Gladly._”

“No,” Kassandra hauled Alexios away, dragging him with all the strength she had left, “You’re coming with me.”

He twisted uselessly in her grip, winded from the fight. “I’ll kill him! I’ll kill him and make you watch!”

_ Fucking Hades. _The ocean of Spartans parted for her easily, and she threw her brother to the ground when the crowd closed up again. Alexios let out an anguished yell as he scrambled to his feet. Kassandra kept her distance and brought a hand to her side where her dagger was. 

His gaze followed the subtle movement of her hand. “Are you going to kill me?”

Kassandra blinked down at her hand, then back up at him. Cold dread guided her hand away, back to her side. “...No.”

He closed his eyes and turned away. “Liar.” 

He took off into the forest without even so much as a glance, and seemed to take Kassandra’s heart along with him.

The woods swallowed him whole. She could do nothing else but follow.

*

It was dark by the time she found him, curled up and seated by a stream that had most recently run dry. 

She approached without bothering to mask her footsteps, twigs snapping sharply. The moonlight that fell through the trees illuminated his face when he looked up at her, eyes haunted and expression hollow. His lips quivered, only once.

“Why are you here?”

“Why not.” Kassandra stooped down beside him with a heavy sigh. “I was worried about you. I still am.”

“Why?” Alexios asked again, absurdly enough.

“You really need to stop asking me that. Look. _ This_,” Kassandra gestured between them with a wave of her hand, “is what family does. We get through things together. There’s no _ why _to it.”

“I can’t say I understand that at all. I only just attempted to murder your friend.”

Snort. “That you did.” She looked away briefly, watching the moon through the leaves. “Do you… want to talk about it?”

Alexios seemed to shrink into himself. “There is nothing to talk about. Deimos lives in me. I am a danger to everyone around me.”

“That can be managed.” Kassandra could see his disbelieving expression even in the dark of night. “In _ time, _Alexios. You need to be patient and open about things.”

“Open?” He blinked at her. Blank.

Kassandra sighed. “You should talk about this with someone you trust. Someone who you know will not leave you to deal with it alone.”

Alexios grunted as he turned his head away. There was a loud sniff. “So, you.”

The Eagle Bearer let a tentative smile surface. “So, me.”

Silence reigned as he wound both arms around his knees. He began to rock back and forth gently as he fished for his next words.

“I do not know how to... begin,” he finally said in a small voice.

Kassandra placed a hand over his shoulder, expecting him to flinch or draw away. But all he did was remain perfectly still. “You don’t have to right now. But when you’re ready, I’ll listen. You’ve lived your whole life as a man the cult created. It’s not just going to… go away overnight.”

His shoulders rose and fell. “I didn’t know I wanted it to go away, until…” A quick glance. “Until I walked out of that dungeon and… there you were.”

She squeezed his shoulder again, encouraging. “Better now than never. Come on. We should head back to camp.”

He rose to his feet after her. They lapsed into silence again as they walked side by side. A stray breeze passed them by, raking invisible fingers through leaves. The forest sighed, as though in contentment. 

“Family,” Alexios finally said, voice cracking from a dry throat. “It’s an interesting concept.”

“Is it, now,” Kassandra looked askance at him, curious.

He nodded once, then met her gaze. “I will have to get used to how it feels.”

She clapped him lightly on the back, a smile surfacing at last. He matched it with an uncertain one of his own. The sky began to shower them with light drops of rain, cool and tickling.

“You have plenty of time for that.”

*

The Spartans rose with the sun. 

Golden armor blazed in the morning light as they marched to their duty, like a slow trail of fire stretching across the land. On the other side of the vast battlefield awaited an ocean of blue, surging and murmuring as their opponents showed themselves. 

The Athenians raised their shields, though some were faltering already; there was a common name on their lips that swept through them like a dark wave. _ Eagle Bearer. _

Brasidas paced before his men, up and down, and lifted his spear to the sky. “For honour! For glory! We fight for Sparta this day!” he addressed them in a booming voice. 

The Spartans responded in kind, roaring in assent. Brasidas pounded a fist to his chest and walked down the frontline, looking each man in the eye. He slowed to a halt and allowed his gaze to settle over Kassandra. The two exchanged nods, and then he turned to Alexios, who looked less certain.

“I don’t always give second chances,” he said in a lowered voice as he approached, “But Kassandra trusts you. Don’t let that be in vain.”

Alexios lifted his chin, a fire in his eyes. “General.”

Brasidas held his gaze for a moment before continuing on his way. Kassandra thought she might have seen a glint of approval in his eyes.

The calm before the storm lasted only a minute—or at least it felt that way to them. Brasidas held his massive, round shield and dropped into a ready stance. They watched the Athenians approach, rippling in the distance in their sheer number, and then Brasidas made the call. His voice spurred every Spartan forward, and blue and red clashed on the battlefield of Pylos.

Kassandra weaved in and out of reach of countless Athenian soldiers and repaid their heavy, lumbering movements with deadly dexterity. Blood washed the soil anew as she cut her way through with her dagger and Leonidas’ spear in hand.

And beside her was a powerful hurricane of a presence. 

The sword in Alexios’ hand had become an extension of him. He cleaved through waves of Athenians with honed fury in every line of his body, maneuvering with such grace and fluidity that Kassandra finally understood why men cowered before Deimos on the battlefield. It was as though Ares had possessed the man entirely.

They made quick work of any unfortunate Athenian who thought to approach them. Alexios and Kassandra fought back-to-back, then seamlessly by each other’s side in a dance for which they needed no instruction. 

Fire arrows sailed through the air from both sides. Men screamed as they caught fire. Flames were lapping at dead trees surrounding the battlefield and flickered hot and hungry in a deadly ring. It became hard to tell Spartan from Athenian as smoke billowed and rose into the air, stretching over the battlefield like a dark blanket. 

The chaos of war was a tempest, and they were caught right in the eye of the storm.

Kassandra kept looking over at Alexios as they waded through the field. Yet all the attention in the world could not have prepared her for what came next: a lumbering, towering giant of a man emerging from the smoke, wielding a battle axe that glinted even in the muted light. One of the generals. He had seemingly come out of nowhere, on Alexios’ left.

"Watch out!" She pulled her brother aside, out of range of the axe's deadly arc. The axe-wielder trudged towards them, all bloodlust and brute strength. He brought his weapon down on them again with a roar.

They split up in opposite directions. The curve of his blade sank easily into the ground with a sickening thud. Kassandra blinked through the smog and caught Alexios’ eye. Half a second passed. They nodded at each other then dove for the kill, twin predators in sync with each other.

But the Athenian had wrenched his axe free by then. Without missing a beat, the man pulled and swung in one wild motion again, blade arcing wide in an attempt to throw them off.

Alexios jumped out of the way and tried to switch his flank. Kassandra had other ideas. She dropped into a low duck, skidding forward, and struck out with her blade as the Athenian attempted to steady himself again for another round. A violent line tore open across his thigh. Blood blossomed in the wake of that trail, and he cried out in a hoarse, strangled voice. He lifted his axe into the air and swung, wild and possessed but no real direction to it. There was no precision now that he’d been momentarily blinded by pain.

Kassandra dodged out of the way just in time, pulling herself back on her feet. Alexios emerged from behind a curtain of smoke and leaped onto the bleeding man's back. In one swift motion, he raised his weapon and drove the length of his blade down the top of his prey's skull. There was enough strength in him to break through the helm settled over the Athenian's head. There was a sickening crack, then a wet choke.

And then, from somewhere behind her, another _crack_. Or above? There was a strange movement of wind. Something big and heavy was moving, looming—

Alexios was screaming her name.

“_Kassandra!_”

The raw emotion in his voice momentarily fazed her, and she made the mistake of turning to look instead of simply moving out of the way. “Alexios—”

He lunged right at her after leaping off his kill and pushed her out of the way just as a pillar—no, a _ tree—_of fire descended upon him in a slow arc. She was thrown from the impact of her landing, but it was clear what was happening. Her mouth opened to scream _ no._

His body crumpled easily beneath the weight of the burning tree and he went limp. Kassandra took one dizzying breath, inhaling a thick mouthful of smoke, and leaped into action. 

“_Alexios! _Hold on!” 

He made no move to indicate that he even heard her. The wood was searing with flame and it burned against her skin as she tried to lift the tree off Alexios. She cried out an anguished sound and tried again and again, heaving with all her strength.

The smoke was choking her throat, stinging her eyes, and she began to cough violently—_gods, Alexios, just hang on—_

Heavy footsteps approached from behind. She closed her eyes against the burning pain, only half-aware there was someone towering over her.

Over the sound of clashing steel and soldiers falling left and right came a gravelly voice. "Come quietly, Eagle Bearer."

Something struck her in the head, and everything went black.

*

In Korinth, war and its machinations were only bare whispers on the wind.

A woman was packing, and another sat watching with hands tightly folded over her lap. 

“Aspasia.”

Huff. “For the last time, Anthousa—”

The _ hetaera _rose from her seat and crossed the room in large strides. Aspasia found herself backed against the wall, peering up into the face of a very displeased Anthousa. The woman was only slightly taller than her, yet appeared to tower over her in this very moment. 

“You are risking it all right now,” said Anthousa with heat in her voice. “I will not let you do this.”

“They will kill her.”

Hands came around her arms. Insistent. “They will kill you too!”

“Inconsequential. Let me go.”

Anthousa hissed, angry and dark. Her grip only grew more firm. She was this close to shaking her oldest friend, to rattle some sense out of her. “Don’t be stupid. You’re not reckless by nature. If you do this now, if you go back to Athens, you may never come back out alive. Do you hear me?”

“I hear you.” Aspasia reached up to Anthousa's shoulders and pushed, gentle. Anthousa stiffened, gaze narrowing, then finally relented. Her hands fell away as she took a step back.

Free of her uncomfortable position, Aspasia slid past the other woman. She smoothed at her robes with both hands, then turned back to look.

Anthousa’s expression flickered between rage and confusion in the firelight. Aspasia felt her chest tighten with unease and a touch of guilt. Her voice was soft as she pleaded in the dark, “I cannot just sit here and let this happen.”

“You’ve sat here for a long time,” Anthousa responded flatly, “and let _ many _things happen before. This is different?”

Aspasia’s voice trembled beneath a strange weight. “Entirely, I'm afraid.”

“Gods be _damned_, Aspasia.” Anthousa closed her eyes and turned away, as if unable to physically watch her leave. “You certainly know how to pick your moments.”

“I suppose I do.”

A sharp sigh. Embers breathed low in her voice.“She may hate you if you show up now.”

“So be it,” Aspasia said with finality. For a long moment neither woman said anything. It suddenly occurred to Aspasia how quiet it all was, all of a sudden. She looked out the window. _Clear skies. It rained for so long..._

“The rain’s stopped,” she heard Anthousa say, out of sight. “At the very least, Poseidon seems to be on your side on the matter.”

Aspasia turned to look upon the other woman. Then she crossed the rift to cup Anthousa’s face in her hands, tender. “I do not need the gods.”

“No,” Anthousa agreed, head leaning to one side. A sigh spilled into her palm, warm. “I see now that all you need is in Athens. For better or for worse.”

Aspasia watched the other woman’s eyes flutter to a close, as though falling asleep.

“For better or for worse,” she murmured, and leaned in to kiss Anthousa’s forehead.

***

_What you leave behind is not what is engraved in stone monuments, but what is woven into the lives of others. — _Perikles, Father of Democracy

* * *

**END: PART II**

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *long shriek*


	28. INTERLUDE: Perikles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Make the choice. Be truthful. That is all I wish.”

_ Two years ago _

They watched the moon together from the roof. Its silvery light washed Athens anew as though cleansing the _ polis, _and gave everything a soft, dewy glow. 

They could have been in heaven. It could have been a whole other life.

Yet when she turned to look, Perikles appeared far too pale. There was no glow to him, not even with the crown sitting on his head. His hair was whiter, and the old lines on his face became more apparent. He carried himself with a slight hunch now, hands clasped behind his back, as though there was an invisible, dreadful weight ringing his neck.

Aspasia let her gaze linger. Distantly, guilt was knocking at the gates of her mind. _ You did this to him. All these years by his side… and for what? _

As though he’d heard her thoughts, somehow, Perikles turned his head in her direction. “You had something to tell me, my dear?”

_ So many things, _she thought bitterly. At her continued silence, he reached out with a hand. She leaned into his palm though her heart was far from the gesture. A thumb stroked at her cheek gently as he waited.

“You have always been so patient with me,” she murmured, absently touching a hand over his to keep him there. “And I have repaid you with terrible things.”

“Do not speak in riddles with me, Aspasia.” He tilted his head to catch her gaze when she tried to look away. “This is what I treasure about us—that we have never once lied to each other.”

She breathed in his words and felt them ring hollow within.

“But I have lied,” she said softly. “That gods-damned play they wrote…” 

“Parody. Nothing more.”

“No.” She closed her eyes briefly to center herself, then opened them again. “Listen to me, Perikles.”

The Athenian king nodded slowly and said no more, retracting his hand. His gaze was soft—impossibly so—and the sight pulled at her heart. It pulled her through all the years they’d been together and brought her back to the day they’d first met.

What a young thing she’d been back then, wide-eyed and bold and unashamed. Her father had squeezed her shoulders, then allowed her to leave his side. 

That day she’d sworn to love her king until the day she died.

She looked away, unwilling to let his gaze sway her back to the past. _ No, _ she told herself firmly, _ There is only going forward from here. The future waits for us both—for better or for worse. _

“Aspasia? My love?”

“The Eagle Bearer,” she said curtly. Kassandra’s name was too heavy—it held too much that Aspasia was unwilling to hold in the palm of her hand. She parted her lips to continue, but suddenly found that the words had fled her completely.

Perikles leaned against the stone rail on one arm. The light in his eyes had shifted—slanted, somehow, to become something else entirely. Even the moonlight fell differently across his face. In an instant, at the mention of the Eagle Bearer, it seemed the world had completely changed.

Somehow, whether by the will of the gods or simply because he knew her too well, Perikles thought to ask the right question. “Do you love her?”

Aspasia let out a breath. “I love _ you_.”

He shut his eyes, shut the light out from his gaze.

“Don’t do this.” Perikles’ voice diminished into a whisper. “For the both of us—and more importantly, for yourself. The truth is all I need.”

“Truth can sometimes be a source of agony,” she replied, looking out across Athens. 

“And it shall set us free. Look at me, Aspasia.”

She obeyed, sliding a slow look at her king. It was a face of pure kindness and understanding that greeted her—not what she’d expected. Her voice shook. “Perikles.”

“Tell me what you really want,” he murmured, reaching to clasp her hand between his own. They were so _warm_.

“I cannot say.”

“Then shall I say it for you?”

“No. Gods,” Aspasia shook her head and squeezed at his hand, “Do not make this more difficult than it already is.” She peered into familiar blue eyes and sighed, soft. “She means something to me. And I did not intend for it to happen.”

Perikles nodded. “I believe you.”

“So easily,” Aspasia said, half-chiding. 

He smiled. “That has always been the case.” A pause. “She _ is _quite remarkable, is she not?”

“Perikles…”

“You do not pick and choose on a mere whim. That is not your nature. You’ve always known with fierce certainty about the things you really wanted.”

“And what is it that you think I want in this moment?”

The king shook his head slowly. “Oh, I cannot say. I could never read you the way you read me.”

“That seems quite unfair.” Despite herself, she allowed a smile.

“Very much so.” He reached up again, this time to brush hair aside and tuck dark curls behind her ear. “I never once regretted abiding by my own laws, Aspasia. And yet tonight you make me wish I had.”

Her heart leaped in her chest—not from his touch, but at his words. “You want to marry me?”

“This very instant,” he said, a little louder now. But then he was drawing back and creating this impossible distance between them both and withdrawing his kind, warm hands. “But I shall never do it without your consent. You know this.”

“I do.”

“And you have not given me permission.”

“I have not.” She turned away, back to Athens, to the moon, to the world that awaited her out there. Kassandra’s face swam in her mind like a spectre, clinging to every inch of her spirit like a curse. A blessing. “Perikles,” she said, sadness seeping through the cracks, “I do not think... I ever will.”

“And that is well and fine,” he said, though it was clear it was not. “I am a man of my word, and of the law. Perhaps the gods intended it, that you came from Miletus and not from Athens, as I had.”

She scoffed and fixed a reproachful look unto him. “Do not bring the gods into this. And do not speak of laws as though they bind you like any other common man.”

“But I am bound,” Perikles spread his hands before himself, as though in surrender. “To you, to my city, to all of Greece.” He lowered his hands back to his side. “When did you…?”

“I don’t know. I never took note. I never knew.”

“That performance must have made you think.”

Aspasia closed her eyes. “I saw the look on her face. It was fear. It was _ pain_. I felt changed by it, in that moment, but even now fail to understand why or how.”

Perikles hummed, thoughtful. “I see.”

“I have hurt you, haven’t I? Even though I said I wouldn’t.”

“Aspasia…”

She turned her back to him and laid a hand on her chest, as though trying to steady herself. “I should leave you.”

“And I will let you go.”

In that moment, something that had been stretched for far too long finally snapped within her.

“Enough!” She spun wildly, feeling the last of her patience dissipate like droplets of rain beneath a blazing sun. And he was the sun—he was everything good in the world, with that kind light in his damned eyes. “Where is your anger? Your scorn? You should hate me. You should never have trusted me so easily. You should—”

“It is inconsequential.” Perikles touched a hand to his heart. “I love you more than my own soul. More than Athens. And if this is what you want—if she is—”

“I don’t even _ know _if she—if I want—”

“Hush.” He was moving towards her now, and she fell right into his arms. “That is quite enough. I don’t want to see you like this—ever again.”

He held her close enough for her to hear the steady thumping of his heart. She leaned into it, laying a hand over his chest, and said nothing. And what else was there to say, after all? Her thoughts drifted to the depths of the Aegean, lost.

He speaking gently to her. Pulling her back to shore, if only for a moment. “Make the choice. Be truthful. That is all I wish.”

She closed her eyes against a wave of burning tears. The outside world fell away. In the dark, in the furthest reaches of her mind, a pair of golden eyes were looking right into her soul. 

And how _bright_ they were, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical sources are unclear as to whether the real Perikles took Aspasia as his (second) wife due to citizenship laws, so that’s really what they’re discussing in this short scene. And that’s a wrap, we’re all going back to Athens! Yay for pain.


	29. Spartan Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was nothing quite like the sight of her—especially like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: rape

* * *

**PART III**

* * *

_ For after all what is man in nature? … The ends of things and their beginnings are impregnably concealed from him in an impenetrable secret. _

— Blaise Pascal

***

Someone’s laugh was grating against her skull. The sound of it reached into her, unpleasant and intrusive, and echoed all around her. 

Her head throbbed distantly from it, and there was a strange weight bearing down on her eyelids. Her limbs were made of stone, it seemed. When she finally opened her eyes, the world had gone sideways. The stone was hot and dry against the side of her face.

The laughing shadow stood behind a gate, peering down at her, faceless. 

Kassandra squinted against the sunlight as she moved a hand slowly across the stone. Pressing her palm into it, she heaved herself up into a sitting position and nearly doubled over with how heavy her head was feeling. She leaned back against the wall, dizzy.

The shadow spoke. “Good morning, Eagle Bearer.”

A wave of pain lapped at her, in what felt like six different places. “Kleon,” she heard herself rasp.

“Athens is not safe for Spartans, you know. Yet here you are, for one reason or another.”

She scowled, brows meeting low. She could see his face now that her eyes had adjusted to the light and leaned forward. “I’ve missed your pretty face, that’s why.”

Kleon’s mouth twisted into a smile—or something close to it. “Then enjoy the view while it lasts and get a good look.” He leaned in as well, face nearly touching the bars. “This might be the last face you see before Tartaros welcomes you.”

“I think,” Kassandra said, slow, “I might need a closer look.” She lifted her chin, never once taking her eyes off him. “Why don’t you step inside for a while, old friend?”

“I don’t think so. That would be far too easy, wouldn’t it?”

“Far too easy to snap your neck, yes.”

He drew back from the gate and straightened his back. “That’s _ very _ poor attitude, Kassandra. Will you not make amends with me even on the eve of your execution?”

Kassandra swallowed with effort, throat impossibly dry and in agony. “I don’t give enough of a shit about you to try.”

The Athenian general shook his head, tutting softly. 

“Then what about dear little Deimos and the Spartan general?”

She moved without thinking and surged to her feet in one swift motion. Kleon immediately took a step back; she was slamming against the gate, aching hands closing around its black bars. It rattled violently. All pretense fled from her in that single moment, and she openly snarled at him. 

“Where are they, you fucking piece of—”

“Now that’s no way to talk to me. You treated Perikles with such respect,” Kleon said, cheery, though his eyes were gleaming with disdain. “And now you look at me like I’ve somehow offended you.”

“Offended—” Kassandra slammed a hand against the gate. “Tell me what you’ve done with them or I’ll fucking gut you!”

“You can try.” Kleon clasped his hands behind his back. “I imagine a _ misthios _like you will always find a way. And as for your brother and friend, well…” 

He smiled in that same way again, a venomous curve cutting into his aged face. 

“How do Spartan boys prove their mettle? Was it wolves, or facing each other? I can never remember.”

Her eyes widened. “What.”

Kleon chuckled, pacing slow, up and down before her. “They’ll have fun, Kassandra, I promise you that. And then they will join you tomorrow evening to be paraded before all of Athens.”

“I’ll kill you,” Kassandra growled, “and every last one of your cult members. I promise _ you _that.”

“Arrogant to the very last. Leonidas’ blood does shine through. But aren’t you exhausted, Eagle Bearer?” Kleon’s gaze flickered away as he walked. “Running all over the Greek world, snapping necks and tearing men open from head to toe, all in the name of vengeance.”

“Not a bit. I’m going to enjoy it when your turn comes around.”

“Will you kill _ all _of us?”

“Didn’t you hear me? I said every last one of your _ malakas_—”

He turned his head and raised a hand. “Don’t insult my intelligence with a lie, Eagle Bearer.” He approached the gate, bolder with every step. “Unless you intend for the Ghost to die, your vengeance will never be complete. And I know just how sentimental you can be.”

Kassandra looked up into his face, haunted and gaunt. He seemed thinner from the last time she’d seen him, somehow—yet there was a fire in his eyes that refused to bend low or die out. He was taunting her now, digging deep into the cracks where it hurt the most. 

But beneath that dark intent, Kassandra thought she might have seen something else.

“Is she giving you trouble?” Her question was quiet and mocking. “She is only one woman, you know. And _ you _ have Kosmos.”

Kleon leaned in. “And she has you. But seeing as how you’re behind bars, I doubt you’ll be getting in the way anymore. That makes the job easier.”

Something like anger (or was it panic?) flickered faintly in her chest. Kassandra curled her hands tight around the bars until their edges threatened to break the skin of her palms.

“She’s far out of our reach.”

“You’re wrong about that. Don’t look at me like this, I am every bit as surprised as you are.” Kleon’s breath smelled like rot and decay. “But I have eyes and ears everywhere. I know this for a fact, that she came to Athens several days ago.” 

“_Why,_” Kassandra hissed, more to herself than to Kleon. “Why would she—”

“I have one theory.” Kleon’s gaze narrowed with meaning as he looked at her, head to toe.

She drew back, disbelieving. _ That’s not true. She wouldn’t—not for me. _

And yet, there was that sick satisfaction written across Kleon’s face as he watched her. Waiting for her to realise the truth of the matter. He remained where he was, unblinking.

“You should have been more careful in Pylos, Eagle Bearer.” Kleon finally drew away, releasing his grip on the gate, and turned his back to her. 

“Now I am certain Aspasia will not leave Athens alive a second time.”

*

Her heart felt fit to burst out of her chest at any moment. 

The world spun every time she turned her head or attempted to stay on her feet for more than a minute, so she resigned herself to sitting on the ground, back against the wall. Her mind was alive and buzzing with too many thoughts to rein in. It only added to the dizzy spell that had come over her.

Outside, the sun was stretching high at its peak. Beyond the sheltered walls of her cell, Kassandra could almost see the heat emanating from the ground. She certainly felt it in slow waves, and kept to the coolest corner of the cell.

She closed her eyes, dropped her face into her hands, and took a long, drawn out breath. But it did nothing to discipline the rest of her body—or mind. She was taking quicker, shorter breaths the more time went by. 

Somewhere down the line, her thoughts ceased at last. But there was still that faint buzzing noise, as though coming to her from across a great distance.

Eventually, Kassandra allowed herself to lie down. She drew her knees close to her chest and held them there, eyes fluttering to a close.

Soon, there would be no pain. Maybe she wouldn’t even make it to the time of execution. Kleon seemed quite certain she would have, but no guards had come to give her water or food since the time he’d left.

Everything was quiet. Not even a gust of wind, come to soothe the soul. 

Kassandra was beginning to doubt there even _ was _an Athens. Her consciousness began to drift, and she fell asleep. For how long, she did not know.

A voice broke through the fog of slumber after what felt like an eternity.

“Wake up_._”

There were hands tugging at her arm. Kassandra turned away, pulling herself free, and muttered something unintelligible under her breath. Sleep. She needed sleep.

“Can’t you hear me? Ugh, wake up, Kassandra!”

“Go away, Phoibe,” Kassandra mumbled, brows furrowing in light irritation. “Tell Markos… he can wait a little longer.”

A light slap on the arm. Someone was being very insistent. “It’s not Markos who needs you, dummy.”

“_Malake_…” Kassandra blinked her eyes open and turned to lie on her back. 

Her breath caught in her throat when she saw the girl standing over her, hand on hip. She blinked again and again—but gods, it _ was _Phoibe. _Wasn’t it?_ When she reached out with a hand, Phoibe caught it with both of hers and pulled the Eagle Bearer up into a sitting position. Her hands were warm, like she wasn’t actually—

“Phoibe,” Kassandra whispered, pulling the girl into her arms. “Phoibe!”

The girl was quickly patting her on the pack before she attempted to wriggle out of the hug. “You’re wasting time! You have to get up!”

Kassandra felt hollow the moment she let Phoibe go. The girl was scrambling to her feet. She crossed her arms over her chest as she towered over Kassandra, looking _ real _and serious and—real serious—

“Where am I supposed to go?” Kassandra asked, shrinking a little beneath her gaze. “And how, when I’m locked in like this?”

Phoibe was reaching for her again, and attempted to pull her to her feet. It was a concerted effort, Kassandra had to admit. Unsteadily, she rose.

“You’ll get out soon, and then you have to _ go_, okay?” The girl looked up at her, tugging insistently at her hand. “Promise me you will!”

“Am I dead or something?”

Phoibe seemed to ignore this—or maybe she didn’t hear it—“Promise me! She needs you now, like I needed you.”

Kassandra’s heart clenched, painful. She dropped on one knee and took Phoibe’s face in both hands. “I don’t know what you’re saying, Phoibe, but I… gods, I’m sorry for—”

“I know,” the girl said, quiet all of a sudden, “I know, Kassandra. You’re such a nag.”

“Didn’t nag you quite enough before,” Kassandra laughed, a weak sound.

Small hands clapped over her shoulders. Kassandra felt her entire form rattle from it. And Phoibe was instructing her again, cryptic, “You need to help her. You have to remember.”

“Her?”

Phoibe made a face. “_Aspasia_, dummy.”

Kassandra closed her eyes and withdrew her hands. She pinched the bridge of her nose and took a shuddering breath. “Phoibe, she isn’t… it’s complicated, and I—”

“You need to.” Phoibe’s voice shimmered, grew distant. “Because she needs you now. Got it?”

“She led you to your death.” Behind closed eyelids, a flood of hot tears awaited release. “You _ died _ because—”

“No, forget about that! Ugh! Remember.”

“Remember?” 

But no response came after. The cell grew cold again, as though something had just sucked all the warmth out of it. 

Kassandra lifted her head and opened her eyes. Nothing but an empty cell greeted her. 

She wept into her hands in bursting sobs.

*

A hand was gently tapping at her face.

Kassandra cracked open her eyes and felt the simple gesture take all the strength she had left in her body, and looked up into a kind face. He was smiling down at her, eyes wet with tears. His dark beard was bushier now, thicker and longer, and his hair appeared less well-kept than the last time—

“Sokrates.” Her voice was practically dust. “How…”

“Do not speak yet, old friend.” Sokrates looked up, at someone standing further away. “Come. Barnabas, water.”

Something clanged against the stone behind her, and then she heard a clutter of things just hitting the ground.

“Too many things! Just a minute.” Barnabas swore loudly, voice bouncing off the walls, and then he was hovering over her, too, blessed smile and all. He handed Sokrates an old wineskin before dropping low into a crouch. Strong arms came around her and pulled her up. 

The gate was wide open. Kassandra gaped at it for a moment, like she couldn’t quite believe it. 

Sokrates guided the wineskin close to her mouth. “Now drink.”

And she did. It was a painful thing to do at first, but soon the water did its work, and she was bright-eyed again and feeling very much alive once more. She drank until there was nothing left, and her voice finally returned to her in its fullness.

“What are you two doing here—? How did you know—”

Sokrates reached out to brush the hair from her face. “We were told. I know you will want to see her.”

“Aspasia?” She blinked. Something was nudging at her, in the far reaches of her mind. She needed to remember something…

“She is in Athens and came to us.” Sokrates and Barnabas moved to flank her on either side, and helped to bring her to her feet. The sophist jerked his head at something behind them. “But first, you might want to get reacquainted with your things. Barnabas very kindly carried them all the way here from the armory.”

“And you didn’t get caught?”

“We knocked those _ malakas _out!” Barnabas announced, chest puffing out. “You should have seen it, Kassandra, they were like lifeless dolls—”

“Alkibiades made a scene outside before leading them away,” Sokrates was murmuring into her ear, on her other side, “but do play along.”

“Oh.” Kassandra turned and found her dagger, sword, and spear. She wasted no time in retrieving them, moving with renewed vigor. “I’m impressed, Barnabas. Really.”

“No biggie, commander. I like being the hero for a change.”

“Alright, Barnabas, that’s quite enough boasting.” Sokrates stepped out of the cell. “I think it’s time we regrouped with Alkibiades and the rest.”

Kassandra stepped out after him. “I think you should go ahead first. There’s something I have to do.”

“What is it, Kassandra? And can it wait?” Sokrates looked around. “All of Athens knows you’re here, and it will be dangerous for you to move around on your own, out in the open.”

“We have disguises! Or, uh, just this.” Barnabas appeared at her side and draped a hood over her. “But you’d better not go off on your own like you always do! You look terrible.”

“Thanks.” Kassandra pulled the hood down and turned to Sokrates. “About Aspasia—”

“She will meet us at Alkibiades’ estate,” the sophist replied patiently. “She mentioned having to settle some things at her place of residence, first, however.”

Phoibe’s voice chose this time to surface. _ You’ll get out soon and then you’ll have to go, okay? _Kassandra blinked, the memory (or dream?) coming back to her in full force. Her head was aching again.

“I think I need to find her first,” Kassandra moved, pushing gently past Sokrates. “Don’t wait for me.”

“Kassandra—”

“I’ll be _ fine,_” she looked over her shoulder at her rescuers, “and I won’t be late. See you at Alkibiades’.”

The street outside the prison was empty. 

Kassandra looked up and down the long road, pulling her hood up around her ears, and started to run.

*

Her entire home had been left untouched, it seemed. 

There appeared to be dust on everything, even in her personal office that she’d kept strictly locked prior to leaving Athens so long ago. The warm interior was a familiar sight, despite this, and it dug up old memories she’d once laid to rest.

She lightly flipped through old scrolls and tablets while Iris left her side to keep watch by the door. It was likely that Kleon already knew she was here, and _ had _been here for the past few days. The thought left a dreadful feeling roiling inside her and quickened her movements. 

She was searching for something. Or several things. Old correspondences she’d received while in Athens—the kind of correspondence that no one wanted to be found with, if they were intent on disassociating themselves from something like a cult. 

Two years ago she’d left in a hurry with Kassandra at her side. It was careless, but Perikles dying had forced her to move.

And now she was back here again in the belly of the beast. Anthousa had made her displeasure known to the very last moment, before she left Korinth behind.

_ If he lays a hand on you, I _ will _ destroy Athens and burn it to the ground. _

_ I know. And I will be safe. I promise. _

She wasn’t entirely sure if it was a promise she could keep. Iris had done her scouting two nights ago and reported back that the _ hetaera _of Athens had dispersed—or disappeared completely. 

Ah. There.

Her hands shook as she found the little ornate box she’d kept away in a secret spot. It rattled with its contents as she set it on the table and opened it. A stack of letters greeted her. She took one glance at it, then closed the box shut.

A sudden crash outside made her look up. “Iris?”

Nothing but the wind responded to her. Aspasia moved out from behind her desk and to the doorway.

Outside in the central courtyard, an urn had been smashed to pieces. Laying across the scattered pieces was Iris, bleeding and unconscious. The stateswoman took a step back before a shadow emerged from the side, hood drawn up.

She backed away into her office as it advanced on her, fuming and tall and imposing. Large hands came to pull the hood away, revealing a face she recognised—but only vaguely.

“Ghost of Kosmos,” the man said darkly. “I have come for you.”

“You are familiar.” Aspasia smoothed her expression into fearless neutrality. “Let me guess: Stentor of Sparta.”

The Spartan man smiled and stepped into the office after her, hands spread open. “That’s correct. I’m honoured that you remember me.”

“I doubt you came here just to see if I remembered you.”

“Correct again.” Stentor pulled a dagger out from behind him. “Kleon gave me strict orders not to make small talk, but I just can’t help it.” His teeth gleamed white as he smiled wider. “You’re something of a legend. Or a myth.”

Aspasia folded her hands in front of her. “I am only a woman.”

“But he seems to think you’re his biggest threat.” Stentor flipped the dagger over in his hand. “Frankly, I think so too. You’ve been pulling some strings in the dark, making things hard for him to gather the cult together again. You and your,” he threw a casual glance over his shoulder at where Iris lay, “skilled associates have kept us all apart for the longest time.” He looked back at her, a shadow crossing his features. “And then there’s the Eagle Bearer.”

“We do what we must, at any cost.” Aspasia met his gaze, unwavering. “You should know that she, too, is here in Athens.”

“Dehydrated and dying in a cell, yes.” Stentor took slow strides towards her. “And _you_ should know that if she doesn’t die tonight, then she will be hanged tomorrow for all of Athens to see. You’re powerless. Defenseless.”

“Hmm.”

Stentor continued his advance. “You seem resigned to fate.”

“This fate being…” Aspasia’s eyes fell to the weapon in his hand. “Being stabbed to death by a Spartan in the comfort of my own home?”

“I cannot disobey Kleon. Not with what he’s promised me.”

“And what has he promised you?”

“Glory. A place among the stars. I will become Kosmos’ new champion, of course.”

Aspasia scanned him briefly, backing up against her desk. A hand slowly slid behind her, feeling along the underside of it. “That certainly is no small feat.”

Stentor closed the gap between them and roughly reached behind her to catch her wrist. His grip was made of steel. “Don’t do that,” he said softly, pressing the flat of his blade against her jaw. “If you know what’s good for you.”

“Either way,” she drawled, “I am to die by your hand.”

He hummed, sliding the cool blade along her skin, down to the curve of her neck. “You’re right, but it might not have to end that badly.”

She suppressed a shudder as he dipped the blade below her collar. There was a strange, heated look in his gaze now, and when he leaned in his breath was hot and burning against her skin. 

“Suppose I spare your life,” Stentor said darkly, pressing against her body. “Suppose we both play Kleon out of his game and take the cult for ourselves.”

“You assume there is a ‘we’ in this.”

He growled, “The alternative is much worse, Aspasia. I promise you that.” His blade was ripping lightly into fabric now. “I can go back and tell Kleon that I’ve killed you, then you’ll go free. In return, I will become your champion—and you can have your cult back.”

Aspasia looked past him, unmoving. “Why ally yourself with the likes of me?”

“Because you’re smart and ambitious. Kleon is only ambitious—and has only earned his position with brute force. And our cultists are few in numbers, these days.” Stentor’s free hand fell to her waist and pulled her in. “No thanks to your precious Eagle Bearer.”

“You appear obsessed.”

The Spartan sneered down at her. “She took everything from me. I wish to return the favour.”

“The last time a brother of the Eagle Bearer attempted to do so, it did not end well.”

“I’m no brother of hers. And you’ll shut your mouth if you want to live.” He tossed aside the dagger without a second thought and curled a hand around her neck, pinning her down onto the desk.

Aspasia’s eyes widened as he hovered over her, forcibly kicking her legs apart. There was a recognisable hunger in his eyes now. “Don’t,” she said. Cracks were appearing in her voice, and fear seeped in, little by little. _ Powerless. Defenseless._ She thought wildly of Anthousa, then of Kassandra. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Then you’ll say yes?” He bent his head low to press his mouth to her ear. “Hmm?”

“I—”

His hand squeezed around her neck, tight and full of intent. At the same time, he was pulling up the length of her robe. “There is only _ one _ right answer.”

She closed her eyes tight, lips parted in an attempt to gasp for air. But he only squeezed tighter, his large, callused hand covering the width of her throat with ease. Her heart began to thump wildly against its cage, like a frightened bird yearning for release. 

Stentor was prying at her smallclothes in rough little movements, growling against her skin. He thrust one thick finger inside her without caring for preparation, and she let out a sharp cry. He laughed a rough, jagged sound. “What was that? Louder, if you please.”

There was an ocean roaring in her ears. Aspasia gasped again as he began to pump his finger in and out of her, pain burning right in her center. Her body grew still as he worked his hand between her legs, taunting and mocking her all the while.

“Well.” He pressed a wet kiss over her jaw and turned it into a painful bite, teeth scraping hard over skin. “Perhaps you need more coaxing.”

Before she could respond—or even open her eyes—there was a sudden, jerking movement above her. But it wasn’t what she thought it might have been—far from it, she would soon learn. Stentor let out a guttural cry and released his hold on her neck. She gasped for air, finally resurfacing, and opened her eyes as she sat up.

There was a dagger in his back where blood was spurting freely, and the hand captured around the hilt of it was driving it deeper and deeper into its mark. 

His attacker was gripping him by the back of his collar, all fire and fury in her golden eyes, and slammed him against a bookshelf in one savage motion. Aspasia could only sit there and watch, still shaking from the violation—

Kassandra turned to look at her briefly. It was a look that could have stopped time itself. 

She watched, mystified, as the Eagle Bearer wrenched her weapon free out of Stentor’s back and threw him to the ground.

Stentor snarled up at her, expression twisted in pain. “You—”

“Yes,” Kassandra growled. “_Me. _And I have waited for a long time for this.” She punched him square in the face. Something cracked loudly in the still air. He let out a shout of pain, nearly keeling over from the force of it.

But the Eagle Bearer looked far from done. She was punching him over and over until he looked to be on the brink of unconsciousness, bleeding out of his mouth and nose. There was blood on Kassandra’s fist. There was blood all over the floor. Stentor was hemorrhaging at this point, with one black eye and a cut lip.

The Eagle Bearer looked lost in her wild rage, teeth bared in a snarl. He seemed to find his voice halfway through this onslaught and began to scream. “You’re nothing! You’re _ fucking nothing _—”

It was short-lived; with a flick of the wrist, she drove her blade right into his mouth mid-sentence. 

Aspasia let out a breath, shuddering and heavy, as she watched Stentor bleed right into Kassandra’s hand and all over her as he fell forward, choking violently.

His body lay still where Kassandra left it, blood pooling thick across the floor. 

The Eagle Bearer rose to her feet, pulling her dagger free. She reached up to the cloak hanging over her shoulders wiped her weapon clean with it before keeping it away. Finally, she took off the hood and cloak at last and let it fall to the ground with a flutter.

Her forearms were soaked red, right up to her elbows. There was blood across her chin. She wiped at it with the back of her hand unthinkingly as she turned to Aspasia, breathing hard through the nose. Her jaw ran red when her hand fell away. She appeared to be a predator, standing over the fallen form of her devoured prey.

There was nothing quite like the sight of her—especially like this. _ Beautiful, _Aspasia thought distantly, sliding off the desk.

Their eyes met.

Tentatively, Kassandra took a step forward. Then another. And then they were crossing lifetimes, it felt like, until Aspasia laid shaky hands across the Eagle Bearer’s chest. She looked up into the face she’d only ever dreamt of since Naxos. There was a severity to Kassandra’s stare that cut through to her soul.

“Kassandra,” she whispered, reaching up to her face with both hands. Stentor’s blood was still warm—or maybe it was simply Kassandra herself, burning like the sun. Aspasia cared nothing for dirtying her hands. In that singular moment, she cared for nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *pops champagne* GOOD FUCKING RIDDANCE MY GUY


	30. Glass Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Make your choice and live with it.”

The scent of blood clung thick in the air like smog. Her hands were sticky and drenched in it.

Every breath was a feat in itself. _ Inhale. Exhale. _ There was a boulder coming down on her chest. Or the entire world. _ Through the nose. Steady. _ Her eyes lifted. They met Aspasia’s, and all that effort went straight to Hades. 

Somewhere, somehow, a world was collapsing without making a single sound.

There was a tremor in those hands that framed her face. A distant earthquake, there—or mere aftershocks. She closed her eyes, unwilling to look, and in the darkness she witnessed Stentor’s treachery again. There was something bitter in her mouth. She took another breath, then jerkingly pulled Aspasia’s hands away before turning on her heel. Every step was heavy and clunky. She might as well have been carved straight from stone.

“Don’t turn away from me.”

Kassandra grimaced. One sandal stepped into Stentor's blood, squelching unpleasantly. She eyed his crumpled form, observed his mangled throat. The blood would be hard to scrub off, she thought absently, if she stayed here too long.

She moved to the doorway. A hand captured hers, and her entire body seized up; she thought again about the blood and gore, how absolutely _ disgusting _it all was, how she needed to be clean this very instant—and looked over her shoulder, into wide, dark eyes. Desperation.

“Kassandra. Please.”

There was smoke. It built up inside her chest, lungs, behind her eyes—all signal to the fire that was fit to consume her whole. She turned, nostrils flaring, and raised her captive hand stiffly. Aspasia’s eyes widened as she stumbled forward along with the sudden motion. Kassandra cast a brief look at Aspasia’s hand, still tightly wringing hers, then back again.

“Are you hurt?” she asked shortly.

“That," Aspasia's voice wavered, "doesn’t matter right now.”

She huffed, impatience flaring. “Are you hurt,” she repeated slowly, grinding out each word, “or not?”

“...No,” Aspasia said after a moment's deliberation, voice withdrawing considerably. There was a distance in those eyes now, “Nothing I cannot get over in a short while.”

Kassandra wrenched her hand free, cruel. “Then what else is there to talk about?”

Aspasia’s throat bobbed lightly as she swallowed. Her voice was thin. “Everything_. _ I owe you answers, I know this.”

“Answers—” She laughed, a harsh and high sound. A bloody hand slapped at her forehead. “You don’t know what I want, Aspasia! You have no fucking clue.”

“Then tell me.”

The Eagle Bearer took one last glance at Stentor’s body before advancing on Aspasia. She took slow steps, each one heavier than the last. A hand hovered over the dagger at her side. 

“Are you sure you want to know?” There was a threat, somewhere, high in her voice.

Aspasia matched her step for step, retreating until she was once again backed up against the desk. Her hands gripped at its edges for support and balance. Kassandra towered over her like a looming shadow. A vision of Hades himself, with burning embers for a heart. Her gaze flickered down to the weapon in Kassandra’s hand, its shine dulled by now—

All of a sudden a hand clamped around her jaw. When she looked up, she saw nothing but flames reaching high in golden eyes. They gleamed with pain and betrayal. _ As they should be_.

A moment passed. Or a hundred years. It was hard to tell.

“Say it,” Aspasia murmured.

Kassandra tipped forward, breath warm against her face. “I want to end this.” Her weight was both familiar and unbearable. The dagger surfaced. It touched the side of her neck, sharp edge meeting delicate skin. “I should kill you right now for what you did to me.”

Aspasia shuddered in her grip, so close to death. “You would be justified.”

“I would be more than justified, _Aspasia,_” Kassandra’s voice was tight around her name. Acid. Her eyes shrank into dark slits. A wave of tears burned at the Eagle Bearer. Aspasia was turning into a foggy vision. “How long were you going to keep this from me?”

“Not for much longer.”

“I don’t believe you.” The dagger moved, either by accident or on purpose. It sliced thinly along. Aspasia hissed. “You had every fucking chance. And I had to hear it from somebody else.”

“I wanted to. On Naxos. But I—” She swallowed again, with more effort this time. Her growing wound began to sting. “I feared what would happen.”

Her hand squeezed the hilt. Rage was molten lead in her veins. “You feared this blade in your throat. And yet,” her voice quaked uncontrollably, “here you are. What good did fear do?”

“No.” Aspasia closed her eyes briefly, to center herself in the darkness. “I am not afraid of dying.”

Kassandra’s teeth flashed. Snarling. “Yes, you are.”

Her eyes opened. “I’m afraid to lose you.”

_ “Liar!” _

Kassandra shoved her against the desk. She reached around to grab a fistful of hair and jerked hard. Aspasia’s head tipped back with force, exposing her neck. The blade’s edge plunged deeper into her skin, hot and burning. Blood bloomed across olive-coloured skin. 

The Eagle Bearer breathed down at the sight. Murderous intent touched at her soul, mingled with something else. It was a sick weight, pulling at her, urging her to stay her hand. She had come so far only to find herself back in Athens, and for _what__? _

Aspasia curled a hand slow over her forearm, trembling as much as she was. “I don’t want to lie to you again. The moment you left, I knew it to be true.”

Kassandra blinked at her. Brows clamped down in a deep scowl. Then something wavered in her soul, a strange ripple to unsettle still waters. Was it real? Was that the truth? There was a weight to them. Perhaps—

_ No. Stop this. _

She jerked her chin, breathing contempt once more—or tried to. The fire flickered lower as she hissed, “Why? Did you come here just to—_throw _this in my face? To see me suffer?”

“No. I came here because you were in danger—”

“Don’t lie to me! You know what I do to cultists.” Her teeth clenched tight. Kleon’s voice rose like a trail of smoke. _ I have one theory. _

In a brief moment of absurdity Aspasia jerked her hand forward, edging the blade deeper over skin. Her lips drew back in pain. “I do know," she said, out of breath, "And I am not playing this game anymore, Kassandra. If I have to die to prove it—if you want my blood all over your hands—”

“Stop manipulating me. Your blood, his blood,” Kassandra leaned in, cold, “What’s the difference? It’s all the same to me.”

Her words were poised for incision. Aspasia blinked, trapped beneath the Eagle Bearer, and then her grief suddenly disappeared behind a veil. A shift in the wind, and suddenly it was colder than Kassandra remembered it being. 

“Then _ take it_.” Aspasia’s voice sharpened with similar intent. “You have the Ghost of Kosmos here and now. I’m the reason you’re miserable. Complete your revenge. Stop feeling this way.” She rose with a challenge, the fire returning to her voice. “Make your choice and live with it.”

Kassandra bristled, strangely struck by this display. Why wouldn’t her hand move? “Enough.”

But Aspasia continued her advance, a relentless light in her eyes as she looked up at the Eagle Bearer. She pushed herself up off the desk while clinging to Kassandra, a dark, strange fog settling over her gaze. The way she looked at Kassandra was unbearable, like she was finally seeing into her soul, privy to every conflicting thought she'd harboured since leaving Naxos. Yet it was impossible to look away, to deny her the bleeding truth. 

“If you knew what you wanted to do before you walked in here, you would have done it by now.” Aspasia’s eyebrows lifted. “Isn’t that right?”

The Eagle Bearer reared back, lost. It was all she could do, to watch as her own shadow eclipsed Aspasia's face and fall across her body. There was something dreadful here between them, something that rattled her hands.

Finally she spoke, rough voiced, “Shut your mouth_._”

“But you’ve done nothing. You’ve come _ all _ this way, Kassandra,” Aspasia pushed, with both hands, at Kassandra’s heaving chest, words spilling over with anguish and guided by madness, “only to hold yourself back from what you want, like you always—”

She was cut off by sudden movement. Kassandra abruptly wrenched her hand away. The blade glinted high in the air. Aspasia’s voice evaporated, drying up beneath the fire of anguish. She watched the dagger make its awful descent, and time skidded to a halt. Her heart leaped with genuine fear, and in the next moment, morbid curiosity—

What would the dark feel like? What would Charon say before bringing her across the Styx?

She closed her eyes. Something broke with a sickening _ crunch_, and she realised belatedly that it wasn’t any bone in her body but wood. The blade sank into the desk behind her, the force of it eliciting an involuntary gasp out of Aspasia. Instinctively, her hands curled tight and gripped at the scarf draped over Kassandra’s chest.

Their eyes met for a brief second. The Eagle Bearer looked caught between confusion and anguish. Aspasia herself was breathless and lightly heaving, mouth turning dry at the thought of having almost, truly died.

When Kassandra looked away, Aspasia tugged lightly at her.

There was a strange heat to the stateswoman's half-lidded gaze that stirred up something deep and dark within Kassandra. She tipped forward and realised with sickening clarity how much she suddenly wanted to touch her. In Aspasia’s dark eyes were her own desires, mirrored back in wordless response. She released her shaky hold on the dagger and settled a hand over the woman's waist. 

Aspasia pulled at her again, rougher this time, seemingly encouraged by the touch of her hand. Right there and then, Kassandra dived into dark waves. 

Their lips met in a crushing kiss. Her heart fluttered violently from the force of it. Aspasia surged against her, hands roving up to her neck, to the sides of her face. Kassandra’s fingers found Aspasia’s hair and found that it was as soft as she remembered it. 

“Closer,” Aspasia breathed, hot against her mouth, and snaked her arms around Kassandra’s neck. The Eagle Bearer obliged, taking half a step forward. She leaned down heavily into the kiss, growling tight and low at the back of her throat. Teeth scraped clumsily over Aspasia’s lower lip, and then Kassandra clamped down on it without thinking twice about it.

Aspasia moaned a low sound, tightening her hold on her. It stirred up something fierce and aching in Kassandra; she drew back slightly to let out her breath in an explosive little puff, knees trembling weak. 

“Aspasia…” 

“I meant what I said,” she murmured, leaning in for another kiss, “I can’t lie to you again.”

Kassandra tilted her head and grunted softly against her mouth. “Don’t,” she said in a clipped voice. “Just let me—have this.” Just like that, the woman fell silent. Kassandra trailed kisses along Aspasia’s jaw, then down to her neck. She opened her eyes briefly when she felt the woman shudder against her, and saw the bleeding surface wound. Angling her head to press her mouth there, Kassandra then ran her tongue against it in one cruel, punishing stroke. Aspasia shivered and swore sharply, head tipped back.

Her apparent pain sent a wave of satisfaction through Kassandra. The taste of her blood made her head spin. And then she was finally resurfacing, dark heat in her eyes, and capturing Aspasia’s chin in her hand. The other woman’s eyes grew wide, then, and she waited for what would come next without even so much as a struggle in the Eagle Bearer’s iron grip.

“Was that the truth?” she demanded in a low voice.

Aspasia nodded once, and pursed her lips. Kassandra could see the area where she’d bitten, lightly swelling now. And then she was pulling her close again in one rough movement, closing in for another kiss. “I don’t believe you at all,” she said gruffly, and captured Aspasia’s quivering mouth with hers.

*

They were somewhere outside of Athens, close to the woods. 

Brasidas sat with his back straight against the iron grill of his cage. His eyes looked forward to the main gate of the Athenian encampment and never once wavered. Every so often these two Athenian soldiers would pass him by on their patrol and hurl their best insults at him, waving their spears in his direction. But Brasidas wasn’t just another foot soldier or new to their games. He would only lift his chin at them as they walked by, never giving them the satisfaction.

Then they would take the time to remind him of his impending doom. Despite their apparent excitement for what was to come, the Athenians were relatively tight-lipped. Brasidas decided not to bite and kept his lips firmly shut. They would deal with it later, once there was a chance.

Beside him, Alexios was frantically muttering, head in his hands. Brasidas slid a gaze over to the Eagle Bearer’s brother and watched him for a few moments before speaking.

“Alexios.”

The younger Spartan’s head shot up. Wide eyes flickered in his direction. “What is it?”

“We’re getting out of here.” Brasidas got to his feet, unsteady, and pressed a hand against the grill. On the other side, Alexios was watching him warily. “You know that, right?”

“They have us locked in and they laugh like they know something,” Alexios said, full of disdain. “Yet they won’t come close enough to me to smash their head against the bars.”

“But,” Brasidas flattened his voice low, “they’re obviously planning something. And when they spring it, that’s when we’ll spring _ them._”

Alexios’ lips pursed in contemplation. He nodded. “Fine. But your leg.” His eyes went to the bandage wrapped tight around Brasidas’ left thigh. “You’re still injured.”

“I’ve had worse cuts.”

“You had a _spear_ through the leg.”

“Like I said,” the general folded his arms, “I’ve had worse.” Brasidas trailed off briefly, sparing their surroundings a cursory glance. Then his gaze settled back on Alexios, who was still looking at him. “How are you doing?”

The younger man drew back slightly, expression closing off. “I’m doing fine. This is nothing.”

“Doing more than fine, I suppose.” Brasidas attempted to appear encouraging. “You did well in Pylos, all things considered.” Pause. “I just thought you should know.”

Dark eyes narrowed in his direction, and then Alexios was visibly relaxing. The hard line of his posture softened. “Hm.” He turned his gaze away. “Thank you. You’re a formidable person to fight alongside.”

“No more than you or your sister,” said Brasidas, meaning it.

Alexios huffed, and the Spartan general realised the younger man was actually laughing. “Still had you beat with that sparring session,” he said, looking elsewhere now.

Brasidas’ lips curled. “The fight didn’t actually end until Kassandra came along, so.” Their eyes met. “Who can say?”

“Is that a challenge, General?”

“Maybe. Let’s see about getting out of here alive, first.”

Alexios’ gaze flickered somewhere behind him. “I think the time for that approaches.” His eyes widened at something yet unseen. “...Brasidas.”

The urgency in his voice made him look. Two Athenian soldiers were tugging along two very large wolves, one of which was considerably larger than the other. Their snouts were muzzled and they moved with such slow movements that it was clear they had been sedated. 

Brasidas gripped the iron bars as they came close. “So this is your great reveal?”

“Everyone else is off fighting your brothers on the border. You two look lonely,” one soldier quipped, feigning concern. “So we thought you might appreciate some company. We picked them up when they were just pups, you know.” 

The other one chuckled. “That’s right. So don’t think about getting them to turn on us.”

The soldiers lifted their muzzles and guided them close to the cages, and the Spartans that awaited within.

Alexios sprang to his feet and rammed himself against the bars. The sudden loud noise startled the animals, and one Athenian swore out loud. “Come in and leave those wolves out there. How about that, piece of shit?”

“No thanks,” one soldier said, tugging the larger wolf along to where Alexios was. “Aren’t Spartans good with wolves? Show us some of that tough training!”

“They’re waking up soon.” The other was moving to unlock Brasidas’ cage. “Let’s make it quick and get out of here.”

Brasidas and Alexios swapped looks. When the soldiers were close enough, fumbling with their keys, the two Spartans moved at the same time. Brasidas seized the Athenian through the bars and pulled him hard against the cage, slamming his head into it. The unfortunate soldier fell to the ground, unconscious. To his left, Alexios was doing much the same.

The wolves began to stir at the ensuing commotion, wildly shaking their heads about and snarling at the Spartans responsible for knocking out their owners.

Alexios crouched and reached out to snatch up the set of keys that clung to the fallen Athenian’s belt. A wolf leaped forward, snapping hungry jaws at him. The keys came away free at the last second, and Alexios drew back gratefully with a snarl. 

Brasidas hissed as he attempted to unlock his own cage, several feet away, and narrowly avoided getting a hand bitten off in the process. _“Malake!”_

Locks clicked sharply above the sound of beastly growling. Alexios kicked the gate open just as his wolf made its approach again, momentarily fazing it. Brasidas burst out of his cage not long after, and the two broke into a run towards the stables.

“Watch out!” Alexios lunged at Brasidas and tackled him out of the way, narrowly avoiding a particularly vicious wolf, claws at the ready. They rolled onto the dirt together and quickly split up as their hunters came for them again, growling and barking with apparent hunger in their eyes.

“Weapons. Now!” Brasidas called, and leaped out of the way as his wolf zoned in on him.

Alexios sidestepped the hungry animal on his heels and made a mad dash for the spear hanging off a weapons rack just several feet away. _ Almost_—_got it! _

He spun wildly and thrust his newfound weapon out at the incoming wolf and managed to nick it in the side in retaliation. The beast howled and scurried away, though it was clear it would be back soon. 

Alexios kept his eyes on it, teeth bared, and bounced on the balls of his feet.

The wolf, white as snow and larger than any he’d ever seen in his life, snarled menacingly as it prepared for another round. And then it was speeding towards him, a blur of white in the midst of day. Alexios pivoted just at the last moment. He twisted mid-lunge and drove his spear into the side of the hungry animal. Blood seeped into pure white fur and dripped in large volumes to the ground as the wolf began to limp away. Sensing his chance, Alexios kicked off and headed straight for it, unwilling to give it time to recover.

The spear came down through its head cleanly. The wolf shuddered and jerked, then fell to the ground in a powerful thud.

Somewhere behind him, Brasidas was calling out his name. “Alexios!”

_ His leg. _Alexios turned wildly to see Brasidas wrestling to keep the remaining wolf off him, with nothing but a sword clamped between its jaws and fangs. Brasidas’ leg wound was freshly bleeding again, and it only seemed to spur on the beast’s bloodlust and ferocity. He was holding up the sword with one hand around its hilt and another pressed against the steel of his blade. From his palm spilled blood, red and spilling freely.

Alexios wrenched the spear free from his kill and moved without thinking. 

Brasidas kicked desperately. The wolf seemed to startle for a moment and reared back suddenly, before leaping back on top of its prey, claws sinking into flesh. The Spartan general cried out, a harsh sound, just as Alexios thrust his spear cleanly through the wolf’s torso, and then pushed all his weight against it. The animal howled and fell away, collapsing heavily into the dust.

Brasidas came away from it with a puncture to his side, and by the time Alexios was back on his feet, he had a hand pressed over his wound and a face that was rapidly turning paler by the minute. Blood was spilling through his fingers, an awful river running into the ground.

Alexios only took one look at him before moving on instinct again. “Keep it under pressure. It’s going to be a bumpy ride,” he said gruffly, before scooping Brasidas up in one swift motion. 

“You’re kidding,” Brasidas groaned. “You’re actually fucking kidding me.”

Only one horse remained calmly where it had been left. The other stallion had kicked off early on just as the wolves began their onslaught. 

“I’m going to lift you. Cooperate.” Alexios lowered Brasidas to the ground before hoisting him up onto the horse that was now eyeing them curiously. Alexios followed soon after, and Brasidas leaned back with a sharp wince to make room for his leg to swing over. The horse snorted powerfully beneath the weight of two grown men but otherwise made no other fuss.

Alexios clicked his tongue and lightly flicked the reins, and they were finally on their way.

“Where to?” Brasidas asked, voice appearing reed thin now. He clutched reluctantly at Alexios’ waist with his free hand while the other remained soaked in blood at his side. 

“Back to Athens, of course. Where a doctor can help.”

He chuckled and regretted it immediately. “They’ll kill us on sight.”

“Or we could just die here, with your insides spilling out.”

Brasidas scowled, and then gasped in pain. “Fine,” he said, dizzy. He leaned his forehead against Alexios’ back and closed his eyes. “Fuck. Fine. I’d rather not die by falling off horseback, that’s all.”

*

Brasidas woke up feeling almost as dizzy as he’d been before he lost consciousness completely. It only took one blink and he was tipped over the side, retching and vomiting uncontrollably onto the ground. It was… carpet? Where had Alexios found such a luxurious physician? And how the _ fuck _were they going to pay for it without anything on them—

“It’s the medicine, I apologise,” a soft voice came from his other side. Someone was rubbing soothing circles on his back. “But it seems to have worked, all things considered.”

Brasidas groaned, eyes closing shut against the stench of his own puke. He rolled onto his back again. “Who are you,” he asked, breathless.

“My name is Hippokrates. And if your friend had been a minute later, you might have been lost to us completely.”

“How’d he… find you?” Brasidas cracked open one eye and saw a kind face peering down at him. “We’re Spartan.”

“We are well aware of that,” Hippokrates said, moving now to check the wound at his side. Brasidas craned his neck and looked down, and saw that he’d been stripped of his upper body armor—and was now well bandaged. “We knew of three captive Spartans long before you reached the outer city. The _ hetaera _appear to be well up to date with current events, wouldn’t you say?”

“_Hetaera_,” Brasidas mumbled. “Why would they take an interest in… Spartans?”

“The message came from Korinth, not here. Athens has been troubled for quite some time. Perhaps it is no surprise that Spartans such as yourself should be pulled into the center of it, considering...” Hippokrates paused, then moved to check the wound on his thigh. “This one is an older wound. But it’s healing well. I changed its dressing for you.”

“Thank you.” Brasidas laid his head back down. “So Anthousa has a vested interest in the war now.”

“I cannot say for certain.” Hippokrates’ fingers were light against his skin as he adjusted the dressing. “You should avoid strenuous activity for the next several months, Brasidas of Sparta. That is my recommendation.”

He blew out a puff of air, visibly disappointed. “Very well, physician. You know better. I'm surprised you're doing this for me.”

Hippokrates' expression flickered. “We all suffer the same in war. Wouldn't you agree?”

“...I suppose I do." His eyes went to the closed door. "Where's Alexios?”

“Outside, pacing himself into the ground.” Hippokrates rose to his feet and inclined his head. “I will call him in for you.”

He was gone, and then Alexios appeared at the doorway. The younger man looked none the worse for wear, but his brow was creased in a permanent frown, it seemed, as he made his approach. Brasidas watched him, laying still, and cracked a smile as Alexios sat down beside him.

“What luck, hero.” Brasidas indicated the wound at his side. “I’m no longer spilling out of my side. Just for this, you’re getting a promotion.”

Alexios huffed, laughing in that same, quiet way. “I don’t care for ranks and titles.” His gaze ran over Brasidas’ torso. “So you’re fine, then?”

Brasidas patted his abdomen lightly, near where he’d been mauled. “Perfectly. Eventually, I suppose,” he added softly.

“Good.” Alexios was, for some damn reason, getting to his feet already. “I’ll let Kassandra know when she arrives.”

“Kassandra?” Blink, blink. “Where _ are _we, exactly.”

“Someone’s house.” Alexios looked away, frown deepening. “He’s loud and sultry. A friend of my sister’s.” A moment passed where neither man said a word. There seemed to be something in the air, or maybe it was just palpable awkwardness. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll be outside.”

“Huh—hey. You’re leaving already?”

“You need to rest.” Alexios stared down at him, uncertain. “I won’t help make recovery faster.”

“I could use a friend,” Brasidas said simply, with full intent. “Will that do?”

Alexios clenched and unclenched his fists, lips drawn into a tight line. Brasidas was starting to think the man might just up and leave him, but then all of a sudden Alexios was sitting back down, legs crossed tight and hands resting neatly over his knees. 

“Thank you,” Brasidas said after a long moment. “The easier thing to do would have been to leave me behind.”

“It would have been the wrong thing to do.” Alexios stared into his lap. “And Kassandra would be so angry. She cares a lot for you, I suppose.”

“Hmm.” Brasidas looked into the ceiling. The interior had traces of Persian influences, that was for certain. The murals said as much, anyway. Someone rich, then. Someone important. Somehow it didn’t surprise him that Kassandra would have friends in such high places, even in Athens. “I was wrong about you.”

Alexios made a soft noise that sounded close to surprise.

“I said you weren’t fit for battle,” said Brasidas, softly. “But you’ve more than proved yourself. It’s just difficult, I suppose—knowing who you used to be.”

“I am still very much him,” Alexios said, “on bad days. You’re not wrong.”

A twinge of guilt. Brasidas looked back at him, attempting to read his expression. “But you’ve made it this far. You’ve gone against everything you’ve ever known.”

Alexios lowered his head, partly to avoid Brasidas’ scrutiny, even if it wasn’t offensive. “Kassandra, for some reason, believes in me. That is the only reason why I’m still here.”

“And she’s rarely wrong. Unless it’s about a pretty woman, then…” Brasidas trailed off in a light laugh. “She’s fucking useless, then.”

The younger Spartan laughed—an actual one, this time. The bursting sound of it caught Brasidas by surprise. Their eyes met, briefly.

“You have no idea how right you are,” Alexios said, then grew silent. Solemn. His expression receded into neutrality—or just a point blank stare, as though nothing was going on beneath the surface anymore. 

Brasidas cleared his throat, watching him carefully. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“About what,” he snapped, then immediately looked as though he regretted it. “Sorry.”

The general waved it off. “You’re still between Deimos and Alexios. I thought you might want to discuss it. Get it off your chest. Now we have time to breathe.”

“There’s nothing much to say.” Alexios rocked lightly back and forth, gaze falling to the ground. “Some days I think I know who I am. Other days, I am lost in the past. Kosmos is all I’ve ever known, and now all I have is Kassandra.”

“You need something to do,” Brasidas said carefully, “_other _than following your sister around all day.”

“I can’t,” Alexios said flatly. “I must fight at her side. There is no one else.”

“What about Sparta?” Brasidas blinked up at him. “You’re Spartan, just like Myrrine and Kassandra. So, fight for Sparta.”

Alexios’ brows furrowed. “I feel nothing for Sparta,” he said, and Brasidas could hear the seriousness in his voice. He wasn’t lying.

“But you fight like one,” Brasidas persisted, lightly fingering the bandage over his wound. He would be unfit for service for quite some time, something in his head told him. “Leonidas’ blood runs within you. You’re as Spartan as they come—whether or not Sparta agrees, just yet.”

“Are you trying to draft me into the military?”

Brasidas grinned, all teeth and no pretense. There was something boyish about his enjoyment here. “Do you _ want _to be drafted into the military?”

“I don’t know. This war was created by the cult, did you know that?” Alexios failed to keep the bitterness from his voice. He sighed. “It is a good offer, in any case. I may give it some thought.”

“Then that’s all I want to hear, cult or no cult.”

“Hmm.” Alexios cracked a smile. It was a surprising sight. “But I won’t take orders from anyone but you.”

Brasidas laughed. The sound of it echoed off the walls and seemed to dig deep into Alexios, settling right in the center of his chest. Warm. 

“Oh, I know. I was kind of hoping you’d say that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why the updates are getting longer and longer every time I write, but here it is, I guess. Random fun fact: I originally intended for this fic to stop at 30 chapters. I played myself, really.
> 
> Also, I'm acutely aware how fucked up it is to start making out hotly with your enemy and lover while standing over the body of a man you literally just murdered, but I never said this was a fairytale... Far from it, my sweet croissants. (And this isn't a spoiler or anything but they don't bang! Just so you all know, I would never do that to you!!) :)


	31. Athenian Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I am the only one who knows what you’re fully capable of.”

She heard Alkibiades before she saw him.

"Kassandra! My darling fugitive!" He emerged, blonde hair waving in the wind, appearing as a sun-kissed prince come to greet his loyal subjects with arms wide open. He gave a delighted yelp as they neared. "And my precious Aspasia. It's been lifetimes!"

The journey here had been one filled with silence - and much haste. To her credit, Aspasia remained perfectly tight-lipped even now and only smiled wordlessly at Alkibiades. He looked them both up and down, not a drop of judgment in his gaze, and chuckled lightly.

"Look at you both, _ drenched _ in some unfortunate man's blood. I have every confidence there is a riveting story to tell."

"There isn't one." Despite the tightness in her voice, Kassandra allowed Alkibiades to pull her in for a hug. It was a stiff one, but a hug nonetheless. And the sight of him warmed her, just a touch. She patted him lightly on the back. "Well, not one worth telling, anyway."

"Don't sound so upset, _ misthios_. Today is a day of reunion, now that you're finally here." Alkibiades fluttered his eyelashes at Aspasia as he drew away from the Eagle Bearer, and moved to greet the stateswoman. "Come, Aspasia. Immediately! I won't have you looking like a street urchin on my doorstep, my dear old friend."

"If you insist," came her velvet response, hiding no small amount of pleasure at his enthusiasm.

"You know I'd die if you said no!"

As Aspasia took his offered arm, Kassandra snorted lightly. "Just her, then?"

Briefly, Kassandra caught the look on Aspasia's face. One filled with curiosity, and a quiet question: Now _ you decide to stop pretending I'm invisible? _

The Eagle Bearer huffed through the nose and averted her gaze. Alkibiades was fluttering his eyelashes at her from over his shoulder as he led Aspasia up the path, towards the estate that awaited the three of them. There was a wicked sort of light in his eyes, knowing and teasing. Almost as though he was privy to the tension between the two women, somehow.

"As if you'll _ ever _let me undress you, Eagle Bearer. Now come. Your extremely handsome devil of a brother is worrying himself into the ground, waiting for you."

"Alexios?" There was a new spring in Kassandra's step now as she kept pace on his right, so that he was sandwiched between her and Aspasia. "He's here, alive?"

"Came riding into Athens looking like Adonis himself, carrying his Spartan compatriot on his back." Alkibiades wriggled his brows as his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "It would have been romantic if it weren't for the fact that the other man was spilling out his side like a fountain. You Spartans get in so much trouble all the time."

Kassandra felt herself robbed of all breath. "Brasidas is hurt?" she asked, reaching down to grip at his wrist. "Where is he? _ How _is he?"

"Alive and _ well_, sweetling." He slid his wrist loose and then patted her encouragingly on the back. There was a permissive look in his eyes when he spoke again. "He's in my guest chamber--you remember the one?"

Kassandra was already taking bigger strides, cutting ahead of them on the path up to Alkibiades' estate. Her heart pounded a furious drum beat as she left them behind in the dust, mind fixated on one person and one person alone.

"I know just the one."

The sun slanted down through the open roof and into the courtyard. There were servants and handmaidens milling about, busying themselves with what was no doubt a sudden influx of guests and visitors. Several of them stopped to gasp when Kassandra emerged, but she paid them no mind. Sokrates sprung forth from where he sat, and reached out to grip her by the arms as they closed in on each other.

"You're safe. And you look like you've killed a hundred men to get here," he said, voice low.

"Only one, Sokrates." She let out a breath, still burning from the memory of Stentor. "He went after Aspasia."

Sokrates' eyes widened. "And?"

"She's safe." Kassandra threw a look over her shoulder, to the entrance. "Alkibiades is with her, outside, if you wanted to speak with her."

"Indeed. We shall reconvene in the evening with the others, once Barnabas returns." Sokrates nodded toward the double doors. "Alexios and Brasidas are inside. I know you are anxious to see them again."

Kassandra squeezed Sokrates' hand with her own, grateful, before departing. 

*

Brasidas immediately attempted to sit up the moment she appeared by the doorway, but Kassandra wasn’t having any of it. Her hand shot up, palm facing outwards in a stern gesture, and even Alexios didn’t move from where he was seated beside Brasidas. The noise and chatter from outside died away, and Kassandra was only vaguely aware of the quaking in her hands as she made her approach.

She dropped gently to her knees and peered down at her old friend, watching the way his eyes softened with yet unspoken reassurance. He reached for her hand and she caught it with a tight squeeze. The contact seemed to restore her voice.

“What the hell did Kleon do to you?” She looked up at Alexios, who appeared to mirror her appearance, all drenched in blood from the elbow downwards. “To you both?”

“Threw us in with the wolves,” her brother hissed low. Then his eyes went to Brasidas, shining with relief. “But we survived.”

“Carried me all the way here like the heroes of old,” Brasidas helpfully supplied. Kassandra watched as the two men exchanged glances again before she spoke.

“I’m sorry. I failed you both at Pylos.”

Brasidas made a strange noise at the back of his throat. “I don’t accept your apology, Kassandra.”

“Brasidas…”

“We did our utmost best like the damned Spartans we are. All three of us, with our men.” Brasidas raised a fist to his mouth and coughed, and his entire form shook. “And we’re alive to show for it. The gods have rewarded us with a chance to strike back at the heart of Athens.”

“This is no reward,” Kassandra said sternly. “They wanted _ me_. And the only reason you’re both here is because--”

“We chose to be.”

Alexios’ gaze was unwavering. There was something like steel or iron behind those dark eyes, the same eyes that Nikolaos had once worn in another life. His fist remained neatly clenched, resting over his lap.

“Alexios,” Kassandra said softly.

“There is no leaving you, sister.” Alexios looked to Brasidas for a brief second then back at her. “Not now. Not ever again. And that is why I live.”

Kassandra’s shoulders sank, drained of tension at his words. She slid her hand out of Brasidas’ grasp in that moment and smoothed the front of her pteruges as though there was something that could at this point still be washed off with a mere wipe of the palm.

“I need to talk to you,” she looked up at her brother, unblinking. “Outside.”

Without another word, Alexios rose to his feet.

*

They were huddled away in a corner on the roof, where no one could hear them. Sokrates had the good sense to leave them be as he watched them depart from the guest chamber. Aspasia, on the other hand, had watched them both ascend the steps to the rooftop with full attention and meaning. 

Kassandra carried the weight of that gaze in her chest, it seemed, and stopped to take a deep breath as she took in the sight of a different Athens. Alexios watched her, watched the details on her features, and read her silently without making judgment.

“Aspasia is here,” she finally said, after a long bout of silence. She rested both hands on the stone rail, feeling the warmth of the sun trapped there.

Alexios’ voice was gentle. “And?”

“And…” Kassandra watched her own hands curl into fists. _ These wretched hands. _“I almost killed her.”

She thought she heard Alexios let out a sigh. “But you didn’t.”

“Stentor had her.” Kassandra’s voice rattled in the still air. “Had her... up against the table. He touched her in places that--” She closed her eyes. “And then I tore him open right there. In front of her. Didn’t even wait. I couldn’t. I had to--I wanted to--”

“And then you tried to kill her?”

“Tried,” Kassandra spit the word out like venom. “Then she started saying these things to me, about not wanting to lie to me again, about coming to Athens _ because _of me and it--” She took a deep lungful of air in an attempt to center herself and the violence in her voice. “It sounded so real. I wanted to kill her, to push her to the end, to see if she would--”

“Break,” Alexios finished softly. “And she did not, did she?”

“No.”

“So what is the matter?”

Kassandra gritted her teeth, daring to look her brother in the eye now. “It was madness, Alexios. This animal instinct to just--tear her apart like I did Stentor. And Stentor, he--” She turned, pushing away from the railing, and opened her palms up. She stared into them in quiet horror. “I nearly became him. I did exactly as he did, and I…”

“She lied to you.” Alexios stepped forward to close his hands over hers, sympathy in every line of his face. It was the most human he'd looked since Kassandra found him in that abandoned farmhouse. “Hurt you. And you had something with her that you wanted to believe, for many months now, was true and untainted by everything else happening around you. Stentor lusted for something he did not understand or deserve. You are _ nothing _like him.”

“But I showed her that I am.” Kassandra gripped his hands as if holding on for dear life. “I showed myself. I wanted to kill her. I _ wante__d _it.”

Alexios took another slow step, gaze softening even further. “Once upon a time, so did I.”

She took a breath and felt her body rattle with it. “She’s here now. You could do it, if you wanted to. She… hurt you too, didn’t she?”

“Yes.” Alexios closed his eyes briefly, remembering. His gaze was bright when he opened them again. “But now I have other priorities. I have you. And Brasidas.”

“That’s enough?”

He nodded, once. “More than you know.”

"Don't you want her dead?"

"I do, believe me." A shadow crossed his face, but it departed as quickly as it had come. "But you do not. For one reason or another. That, and she needs us." Kassandra tilted her head, questioning, and Alexios went on, "There is a chasm that divides Kosmos. And she has little choice but to stand with us. With _you_. Do you think a woman like her is careless enough to come to Athens to destroy you instead of use you for protection?"

The Eagle Bearer could not withhold a scowl, and let out a low hiss. “I hate this.” Kassandra shook her head once, feeling so much like a child. Alexios’ arms were steady and strong; an anchor amidst a dark and turbulent ocean. “I barely know what to do. I barely know myself now.”

“That used to be me,” Alexios said. “Deimos and Alexios, always at odds. The funny thing is, I was only ever Deimos before I met you.” He cocked his head to the side, searching his sister’s face. “And then you called me by my name. Monsters cannot perform such miracles.”

“Alexios…”

“Kassandra.” Alexios’ voice diminished into a whisper. “It was one moment. Not a whole life drenched in darkness. And she is alive.”

Kassandra trembled. “Does she deserve to live?”

He brushed it aside with a slight shrug. “Let the fates decide.”

“Since when did you believe in the fates?”

“What is the alternative? Killing her would destroy your soul.” Alexios’ expression crumbled in that moment. “Only one of us is allowed to be broken.”

“Stop,” she hissed.

“_Ela_,” he murmured, and pulled her close. “No more arguing, or I will be angry.”

Warmed by his sudden gesture, Kassandra leaned her head against his chest. There, she heard his steady heartbeat. For one reason or another, the sound of it stirred something deep and tempestuous inside her. She was crying before she realised it, and held onto her brother in an attempt to keep her head above the waves.

*

Alkibiades was intuitive enough that he kept Aspasia and Kassandra far apart at the dining table that evening, and kept the wine coming as though there was an endless reservoir of it in his stores. His servants moved with efficiency, shuttling back and forth between the kitchen and the open courtyard as they piled only the best Athens could offer in front of this strange assortment of people: Athenians and Spartans, dining side by side.

Barnabas was allowed the opportunity to tell _ one _story of his youthful, seafaring days. “Only one, because you always turn it into a six-part odyssey every single time,” Kassandra chided him openly.

“_Malake! _You have no appreciation for good storytelling!”

That got a ripple of laughter from the table, including the usually reserved Hippokrates and Alexios. Only Aspasia appeared unmoved by the amusing exchange, and kept herself busy--either with eating or speaking softly into Alkibiades’ ear. 

The Eagle Bearer noticed this but didn’t spend too much precious time dwelling on it; Barnabas was making a fool of himself again with loopholes in his story (or holes in his memory), and she wasn’t about to miss a second of it.

The light atmosphere and camaraderie was a refreshing touch despite their circumstances. Kassandra couldn’t recall the last time she’d felt so free. 

_ It must have been a lifetime ago. Or a hundred lifetimes. _

She bumped shoulders with Brasidas, who was finally well enough to make an appearance after the good physician gave him a satisfactory assessment, and traded smiles with Sokrates. In between generous amounts of wine, she entertained Alkibiades’ flirtatious advances.

Aspasia was watching her out of the corner of her eye. Kassandra knew the signs. She would be speaking to someone, but her entire body would become still. Had she truly been involved in a conversation of any sort, she would gesture with her hands whenever she spoke. Right now, those hands were neatly folded on her lap, unmoving.

The wine teased a drunken chuckle out of the Eagle Bearer, and she tipped her head back to look up at the stars. If Aspasia wanted to stare, she could. There was nothing to fear here. No demonic adopted brother, no cultist Athenian general, no death…

Only the heavens. Only the gods, blinking down at her.

Kassandra leaned back against her chair and watched the twinkling jewels embedded in the sky.

When will she ever feel like this again?

“I think it’s time I went to rest.”

Aspasia’s voice was smooth, unbothered by much of the wine she’d been drinking all night. Kassandra straightened herself, sparing a glance at the woman as she rose from where she sat, all the way across the table. 

Dark eyes greeted her, though they were void of any meaning or intent. It was a sight that left Kassandra feeling cold, all of a sudden, and she willed herself to look away.

“Me too,” she said abruptly, and unsteadily rose to her feet. Aspasia barely stopped in her tracks and continued on her way, but not before throwing a quick glance over the shoulder at the Eagle Bearer.

Alexios got out of his seat as well, concern etched all over his face, but Kassandra put up a hand to stop him. “No.” She jabbed a finger at his seat. “You stay and continue making friends. This is good for you,” she slurred. “I can make it back to my room alone.”

“I’m not a child looking for companions to play soldier with,” Alexios said gruffly.

“I’ll play soldier with you!” Alkibiades shot out of his seat and began to glide over to where Alexios was. Almost immediately, her brother sat right back down, livid. 

“More wine!” he called out, eyes wide with panic. “I’m thirsty all of a sudden.”

Alkibiades giggled and went to fetch a new jug of wine himself. Kassandra glanced at Brasidas, who was asking her where she was going with just a single look.

“Sleep,” she mumbled, more to herself than to her recovering friend, and slipped away. 

*

It wasn’t sleep she wanted. Kassandra found herself on the rooftop again, lounging at Alkibiades’ little resting spot. She made herself comfortable with ample padding from his lush pillows and leaned back to watch the stars. The wine was swirling up a tempest in her head, and the stars seemed to be swirling and dancing along with it.

She tried to count them and let out a loose laugh when she stumbled over her words. The sound of it jangled in the cool night air, and she promptly abandoned her short-lived endeavour.

“How unbecoming of Alkibiades,” a voice spoke softly, “to put you up on the roof instead of a proper room.”

Kassandra shook her head, closing her eyes. “You think you’re so funny.”

“If anyone is being funny, it should be you.”

“You would tease your almost-murderer like so?” Kassandra waved a hand blindly in the direction of the voice. “Do you really want to die that badly, Aspasia?”

No response came, and for a moment Kassandra thought she might have successfully driven the woman away with her careless words. She hummed a soft tune, buoyed by the thought of angering the stateswoman into obscurity once more, and gradually opened her eyes.

Aspasia was standing over her, decked in Athenian blue. It was a vision from so long ago, the Eagle Bearer thought weakly. Dark curls fell over a beautiful, angular face that threatened to rob the air from Kassandra’s lungs. The Eagle Bearer’s brows dipped into a dark frown and she rolled onto her side, a petulant child unwilling to look her grownup in the eye. The wine was whispering absurd suggestions to her now, and she let out a reedy little groan. _ Shut up. _

She felt gentle movement somewhere behind her. But despite settling down next to her, Aspasia did not touch her. Not even once.

“I thought you perished at Pylos.”

“I _ wish _I perished at Pylos.”

“Then I would have died by Stentor’s hand.”

Kassandra rolled onto her back in one swift motion, eyes bright with an anger so fresh it almost sobered her up completely. “_Don’t_,” she said shortly. “He’s a fucking stain on this earth.”

“He’s _ dead_,” Aspasia said, almost soothingly. “Hades will take care of the rest.”

“If Hades has any real sense, he will feed the man to Cerberos.” Kassandra glared up into Aspasia’s serene expression. She felt her hand twitch involuntarily but willed herself not to move.

“And what of me?” the older woman asked. “If I die, what shall Hades do with me?”

Kassandra huffed, looking away. “I don’t know about Hades. But I’d be happy you were gone.”

No immediate response came. Then their eyes met, and for a moment Kassandra thought she might have seen hurt flashing across Aspasia’s features like lightning. The stateswoman swayed with strange imbalance, despite being in a kneeling position, and looked as though she was going to simply get up and leave. There was a quiet sort of anguish there that Kassandra knew mirrored her own.

Then Aspasia did the impossible, and reached down to prod the Eagle Bearer on the nose.

“Liar.”

Kassandra sat up so quickly that the world spun, awful and fierce. Yet despite the intoxication slowing her thoughts, muscle memory remained undeterred. She caught Aspasia’s hand in a snap before the woman could pull away, fingers curling over a slender wrist. She squeezed and felt a hurried pulse there, and relished in the possibility that it was fear the other woman felt in that singular moment.

But Aspasia showed no real fear. There was something else, perhaps far more grave than fear or murderous intent could ever be.

“I don’t want us to be like this,” Aspasia said softly, after a time.

“There is no us. And even if there was, there is... no other way _we_ can _ be_.” Kassandra felt Aspasia quivering in her grip. Something jolted in her veins. “You’re such a fool.”

“Why?”

“I could kill you at any moment,” she said with a slight slur, hating the way her words seemed to be collapsing into one another. “I could do it right now.”

“Then why haven’t you?”

“Because--” Kassandra swallowed with effort as her throat tightened. “I’m above that. I’m not going to destroy myself for you.”

Aspasia’s lips parted wordlessly in a silent ‘ah’ before they curled slightly at the corners, lifting up. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” Kassandra insisted. She blinked for a few seconds, and each blink showed Aspasia a different emotion. The last one was stark realisation, and Kassandra roughly released her grip on the stateswoman’s hand. “I do hate you. But I will not let this hate turn me into a monster.”

“Who said you were a monster?” Aspasia's voice hardened slightly.

Kassandra shook her head, as though the motion would dispel the remnants of her drunkenness. “Don’t do this to me. Please.”

Aspasia pressed in, shifting closer and closer until their proximity was near unbearable. She smelled so sweet. Like wine. Like wildflowers. “What exactly am I doing to you that you aren’t already doing to yourself?”

“You--are insane,” Kassandra bit out through gritted teeth. “Coming after someone who hurt you. After I put that blade to your neck--”

“Monsters don’t desire to put an end to the darkness. To kill all that is evil.”

Kassandra’s gaze momentarily fell to the motion of Aspasia’s lips. “Are you calling yourself evil?”

“That is what you think of me.” Aspasia was reaching for her hand. Kassandra flinched, but did not draw away. “I suppose, then, it must be true.”

“Well, don't take my word for it,” Kassandra murmured, gaze flicking back up to a very knowing look on the other woman’s face. Her insides lurched, horribly. “Gods. But I do hate everything you stand for.”

“Then tell them,” Aspasia urged gently, leaning close. Her hand was warm around Kassandra’s. “Right now. Expose me to them and have them hang me by the morning. It’s only right. It’s what heroes like you would do.”

Kassandra looked away, unable to bear the proximity.

“No?” Aspasia tilted her head, and she was half-smiling when Kassandra turned back to look again. “And you say I’m the one who’s insane.”

“I can use you.” Kassandra’s mouth curled into a near-snarl. Again, she looked down at Aspasia’s mouth. “You know Kosmos better than anyone. Killing you would mean losing a lot of good information.”

Aspasia hummed in what sounded like approval. “It sounds like I’m on borrowed time, Kassandra.”

Her name was wrapped in dark velvet. Kassandra shuddered but not from the cold, and allowed Aspasia to take her hand, to lift it, and press it against her cheek. Then came the warm kiss on the inside of her palm.

“Stop. These hands nearly tore you apart,” Kassandra said in warning. But she was already lost in the act, wishing those lips would kiss her elsewhere. “You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

Aspasia’s eyelashes fluttered as she kissed her quivering palm again. 

“No,” she responded in a low purr, “I am the only one who knows what you’re fully capable of.”

The Eagle Bearer felt her heart seize up as she pulled Aspasia close. There was no resistance there. Aspasia then moved with sharp intent, trailing her hands up the sides of Kassandra’s face. It was a dark touch that lit wildfires inside her. She felt both doomed and liberated, all at once. An impossible union of two selves.

“Aspasia, I’m…”

“I know.” She blinked, slow, at Kassandra. “I forgive you.”

The sudden admission made the Eagle Bearer jolt. “_Fuck. _No,” she hissed. “Don’t make it so easy for me--”

Aspasia kissed her exactly where she wanted then, without preamble, and swallowed her plea whole.

Then the stars converged in her mind's eye, burning and blazing as one bright mass until it blinded and engulfed her completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! After three... more than three months. Deepest apologies, seriously - I was unfortunately taken down by finals and having to move *twice*. But here I am. I've always been here, crying about not being able to write (and I confess, during my absence I actually did lose a whole lot of motivation to get back to doing this), but finally!!!!! Tell me how you've all been, please. I've been good, bad, somewhere in between. But I'm so glad to be here, in spite of everything. Let's get this show on the road again.


	32. For Better or For Worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It is history yet to be written, Kassandra. Don’t speak so soon.”

Kassandra awoke with a woman nestled in her arms—and the sound of Ikaros’ screeching sharp on the ear. Behind closed eyelids, the sun was blazing bright and waiting. She groaned softly, a curse on the tip of her tongue.

There was a laugh, and a sudden pressure on her chest. Kassandra allowed it, allowed the shadow to cross over her so it would block away the morning light.

“He’s right, you know. We have work to do,” said Aspasia, much too cheerily.

The Eagle Bearer cracked open one eye. Aspasia was much too close, looming over her with both hands splayed across Kassandra’s chest. They were both… fully clothed, like the night before, she noted with relief. 

“You mean _ I _do,” Kassandra said quickly, though she made no real move to get up. She watched Aspasia with no small amount of suspicion. Here again, on the roof… it felt a lot like all those years ago, before Kosmos had come crashing down on everything she knew. 

Aspasia cocked her head to the side, dark hair swaying with the movement. Kassandra watched the motion of it, lost for a moment. The older woman appeared to interpret her expression correctly, and lowered herself on top of the Eagle Bearer.

“I’m not going anywhere,” was her low, whispered promise.

Kassandra’s arm moved as though on instinct, snaking around Aspasia’s waist. A thrill passed through Aspasia’s expression, just a flicker of it. That same thrill seemed to pass into Kassandra herself, burrowing right in the center of her chest.

“I don’t think,” Kassandra said slowly, “you have any choice in the matter.”

“Naturally.” Aspasia was patting her lightly on the chest. “I just wanted to restore your confidence in me.”

“_Trust,_” Kassandra corrected. “And _ you _ still have a long way to go, lest you forget.”

Aspasia’s eyes narrowed, half in pleasure at the Eagle Bearer’s sentencing of her. She leaned down low, seeking Kassandra’s mouth with her own. Kassandra rose to meet her without really thinking about it, catching Aspasia’s lower lip between her own. 

And that was all. Sweet and swift. No sordid hand movement up anyone’s skirt, no tender words, no silence too significant. Aspasia kissed her again, then one last time on the corner of her mouth, before withdrawing. When she moved away, it seemed she stole some warmth with her, but Kassandra swallowed that cold, hollow feeling.

They were working together now, with a dark secret sitting between them. Of course it would feel different.

Kassandra took Aspasia’s hand when it was offered to her and rose to her feet.

It was strange, the way they looked at each other now. Aspasia looked at her in a way she hadn’t before. There was no pretense, nothing of the sort. Kassandra wondered if she was imagining it, that they were further apart and yet… closer than they’ve ever been. Somehow, a veil had been lifted, and they were finally—_finally_—on even ground. 

Kassandra blinked her reverie away. Now was not the time. 

Downstairs, Alkibiades and Sokrates were discussing something in the shade. The statesman already had a chalice of wine in his hand. But the _ real _surprise was how his brows knit low into a frown; the Eagle Bearer could not help but think that she had never seen Alkibiades this unsettled and so emptied of his usual trademark cheer.

The men turned their heads to them at the same time. Kassandra stepped away from Aspasia, moving first to meet them, and lifted a hand. “_ Chaire _. What’s with the long face, Alkibiades?”

“Oh, _ misthios. _It’s terrible!”

Alkibiades left Sokrates’ side to extend his free hand to Kassandra, as though expecting a kiss upon it to soothe whatever he was feeling. Kassandra only took it in her own, but made no other move other than to look over the blonde man’s shoulder with a questioning look directed at Sokrates.

“We have just heard some troubling news,” Sokrates supplied, looking from Kassandra to Aspasia. “Kleon is making some sort of announcement in the agora this morning. From what little Barnabas’ scouts have heard, it has something to do with the three of you.”

“He’s going to slander me! Stop my parties!” Alkibiades gripped Kassandra’s hand with startling strength. “We must come up with a plan to foil him. I just cannot bear the thought of—of—jail!”

Kassandra patted the top of his hand. “He’s not going to put you in jail, Alkibiades. Nor Aspasia. Me, though? I can believe that.”

“I sent Barnabas ahead to catch whatever it is he is telling all of Athens,” said Sokrates. “We will know within the hour, I hope.”

“If he is plotting something, then we ought to do the same. He cannot be the only one moving pieces across the board.”

“Quite right, my dear Aspasia.” Sokrates nodded sagely, then turned to Alkibiades. “Will you not put down the wine for a minute? We have much to discuss, and I would like your head on straight, Alkibiades.”

Alkibiades fluttered his lashes at Sokrates as he waved down an attending servant. “Sokrates! I _ never _ have my head on _ straight_, but for you—I’ll make an exception.”

Kassandra suppressed a groan, and turned her back to all of them.

*

Politics, it seemed, was the bread and butter of everyone in the room except Kassandra. Alexios had smartly excused himself from these proceedings by claiming the perimeter needed to be secured, in case Kleon mounted a surprise attack while no one was looking.

_ Quick thinking, Alexios, _Kassandra thought glumly. The discussion across the table concerned itself with discrediting Kleon in front of all of Athens, and Aristophanes was currently gesticulating enthusiastically about a play that would rip Kleon’s image to shreds in front of merciless Athenians.

“That sounds familiar.” It left Kassandra before she could really stop it, and for a moment all eyes were on her. 

Aspasia spread her hands, the very picture of innocence, as she said, “And we all know it worked far too well on you, Eagle Bearer. Kleon will fall from a much greater height.”

Kassandra bit back a scowl. “Of that, I have no doubt.”

“And I have _ just _the actor in mind! If you will allow me to contact him, I just know we will create a performance that Athens will never forget, just like how it happened for Kassandra—”

“_Aristophanes_,” Kassandra said warningly, and the playwright fell silent.

“I’m not one to shy away from handsome, dashing actors and the thespian arts,” Alkibiades chimed in at this point, “but _ surely _ we must do _ so _much more to sway Athens against Kleon.”

“Indeed. A provocative story can only do so much—heavier words must be spoken if the impression is to settle in the hearts of men,” Sokrates said. “That is why I will be holding an open debate at the Pnyx—and you, Kassandra, will help me.”

Blink, blink. The Eagle Bearer turned to Sokrates. “Me?”

“That’s right. You will simply need to—”

“_The Athenians are coming!_”

The door burst open just as Barnabas made his frightful announcement, startling everyone in the room. Aristophanes and Alkibiades clung to each other from the shock of his sudden appearance, and Kassandra stepped around the table to her friend.

“Slowly! What are you saying? Why are they coming here?” Kassandra asked firmly.

Barnabas gasped for air, then straightened himself. “Kleon just told all of Athens that _ you’ve _kidnapped Alkibiades and Aspasia after breaking out of jail—so Sparta can hold them hostage!”

“What!” Alkibiades sprang forth. “And what’s stopping Aspasia and I from going to the agora now and poking a hole in that _ baseless _accusation?”

“He’ll kill you both.” Kassandra looked at Alkibiades unsteadily before meeting Aspasia’s gaze. “He’s got soldiers coming to silence you both, I bet.”

“And frame you for our deaths,” Aspasia said, with dark understanding.

“All the better if the three of us are found dead together. Dead men can’t speak,” the Eagle Bearer said gravely.

“It is a battle of wits and falsehoods. And it appears now is the hour of our departure, Kassandra.” Sokrates stroked his beard. “We must act fast.”

“They’re coming up the street!” Alexios appeared at the doorway, livid. He looked to Kassandra. “I can get Brasidas and we can go, but they’ll be on us in a minute.”

“We need to fight our way out then,” Kassandra said.

“No! It will only cement the lie,” Sokrates shook his head. “Alkibiades, is there a way out from the back?”

“Not from the back, in broad daylight! No,” Alkibiades’ eyes narrowed. “We must disappear _beneath them_. There is a secret passageway in the cellar.”

“In the pantry?” Barnabas gestured wildly for everyone to move. “We don’t have time! Take us now!”

Sokrates stepped forward. “I will hold off the soldiers. The rest of you must go—and quickly.”

A murmur rippled across the room. Kassandra was the first to protest: “You’ll do no such thing—who knows what they’ll—”

“No time,” Alexios growled, reaching for Alkibiades and tugging him along unceremoniously. “We go. Now. Show the way, politician.”

“So _ rough_,” Alkibiades practically moaned, and was promptly pushed along on his way. The others followed, save for Aspasia and Kassandra.

“Sokrates!” Kassandra hissed.

But the sophist was already on his way to greet the oncoming horde of Athenian soldiers, stepping out into the open courtyard—and away from their friends. “You will not draw your blade and risk your life this time, Kassandra. This time,” his expression steeled, “I shall wield my words instead. Now go!”

*

They moved in a single file, with Alexios and Brasidas at the head of the line, down into Alkibiades’ underground cellar. 

Kassandra was the last one to enter into this new darkness, and hurriedly closed the trap door behind her. The sound of it closing shut was painfully final, and her stomach lurched uncomfortably at the thought of Sokrates up there, all alone—

Aspasia touched a cool hand to her wrist. “Come,” she ordered quietly. “He knows what he’s doing.”

Kassandra went along, albeit reluctantly. “Kleon will not show kindness to him.”

“Kleon hunts _ us_. And Sokrates is the smartest man I know. He would not have done this if he didn’t think he would come out of it alive.”

Up ahead, Alexios lit a fire on a torch to lead the way. Alkibiades’ cellar melted away the further they walked, and soon they were in a dark and narrow tunnel leading downwards.

“I hope you’re right,” Kassandra said, hands balling into fists, “or I’m hanging Kleon up by his entrails for all of Athens to see.”

She hadn’t realised Aspasia was still holding onto her, and so was surprised to feel a squeeze around her wrist. The older woman was leading her in the dark now, gaze fixed ahead on Alexios’ flame.

“He will pay for it. In due time.”

Barnabas sneezed suddenly. “_Malake_, all this dust! Why do you even have an underground tunnel network, Alkibiades?! To smuggle in your prostitutes and illegal wine?”

“_Those _ come through the front door, dear Barnabas,” Alkibiades said, sounding almost offended. “_This _is insurance, for dark times like these. And sometimes, I simply do not wish to be seen. You understand that, don’t you?”

“As a fugitive of Athenian law, I wholeheartedly do,” came Barnabas’ irreverent response.

“Where does this lead?” Brasidas asked weakly, his voice echoing down the line. 

“Out,” Alkibiades said smoothly. “Do not worry. We will emerge in the outskirts of Athens, in a whorehouse. From there, the girls will aid us in our escape out of the city.”

“A whorehouse?!” Alexios snapped. “And you can be sure your girls will not sell us out the moment we come out, bloodied and dusty?”

“Perhaps if you smile a little bit their way, they’ll like you enough to be silent, handsome one.”

Alexios’ unintelligible growl reverberated through the tunnel.

*

The prostitutes made no qualms about being interrupted by a band of strangers led by Alkibiades and the Eagle Bearer. 

Aristophanes took his leave of them here, promising to work hard on the play while they made their escape and regrouped. It was just as well, he said. His actor’s favourite lover worked here, and he had some requests to make for the betterment of the play. For better or for worse.

Another one lost from the group. Their band was getting smaller—then again, Kassandra thought, it meant they’d be able to move much faster without attracting too much attention.

She hoped.

Kassandra heard Brasidas muttering something low to Alexios, to which her brother responded with a dark chuckle, and rolled her eyes. She didn’t bother looking back, though she heard several girls giggling as they passed through the modest-looking brothel, out the back where they wouldn’t be seen.

“Might fancy a visit when all this is over,” Brasidas could be heard saying to Alexios. That earned him an over-the-shoulder look from Kassandra.

“Brasidas. You’re not bringing my brother to prostitutes.”

“You’re not my _ mater_,” Alexios quipped.

Kassandra rolled her eyes again, but said nothing more. The woman leading them out brought them into an open courtyard behind the brothel, and opened the gate for them. The sun was now hiding behind dark clouds, affording them at least a bit more cover than they would have gotten under a clear blue sky.

“Soldiers don’t come ‘round the back when our best girls are out front,” she said coolly. “Now go. And Alkibiades!”

“Yes, sweet pea?” Alkibiades’ eyes widened as he was being summoned.

“You’d better come back alive. You hear me?”

Alkibiades, with a hood pulled up over his flaming blonde head, snatched up the woman’s hand and swooped down low with a kiss to the top of it. “You have my word. I will _ not _forget this, my gemstone.”

They were on their way, down a deserted path leading to the southeastern gate. Alexios and Kassandra secured the group several horses, and they were soon on their way. Adequately cloaked, they passed through with little trouble; their mounts picked up the pace as soon as they were clear of Athens, and descended into the forested hills of Attika where an apparent _ hetaera _hideout awaited them, according to Aspasia’s information.

Kassandra’s arms were firm and secure around Aspasia’s waist as they rode. It was hard to think about anything else but Sokrates’ safety, but Kassandra couldn’t help but let herself be distracted, momentarily, by the scent of the older woman’s hair. She took a deep, steadying breath.

Aspasia seemed to be aware of it, and leaned back ever so slightly.

“Don’t get too comfortable.” Kassandra’s hands tightened around the reins. “They might start raining arrows on us at any moment.”

Aspasia’s hands closed over hers as she turned her head, to look at Kassandra out of the corner of her gaze. “I’m not afraid. Are you?”

“Not of arrows.”

“Of course not.” Aspasia’s fingers tightened over her knuckles. “We will get him back.” Silence stretched for a long time, with nothing but the sound of thundering hooves to occupy it. “I know of a secret cultist hideout—Kleon’s. Sokrates will be brought there.”

Kassandra couldn’t help but perk up. “You’re certain?”

“I would not lie to you now.”

“And if it’s a trap?”

Aspasia sighed, a sharp sound. “Leading you to ruin now means certain death for me. You know this.”

“Sweet of you to say that.”

“I could be sweeter still.”

Thunder rumbled low overhead. Kassandra tightened her arms around Aspasia’s waist as she leaned in, pressing her lips to the outer shell of the older woman’s ear. She thought she might have felt a shudder ripple its way through Aspasia, but with the way they were moving on a speeding horse, she wouldn’t let herself imagine things.

“Where is the hideout? Now’s as good a time as any to tell me.”

Aspasia looked to the west. “There’s an old, abandoned quarry not far from where we are. You’ll find many cultist soldiers lying in wait there.”

“Hmm.” Kassandra followed her line of sight, at the distant hills and plains. She’d have to get Ikaros’ help on this one, she thought as she drew back. “Good.”

“Good?”

“It’s not so bad, is it? Learning to be on the right side of history.”

Aspasia huffed in laughter.

“It is history yet to be written, Kassandra. Don’t speak so soon.”

They crossed the plains in no time. The _ hetaera _ outpost was, in fact, an old bear cave that had long been emptied out—by a hunter or the _ hetaera _themselves? Kassandra couldn’t begin to guess.

A girl, no older nineteen, popped out of the bushes as they thundered deep into the forest.

“This way,” she said, gesturing for them to follow as they dismounted.

Alexios was looking at Kassandra as she helped Aspasia off the horse. The Eagle Bearer caught the look on his face and knew by instinct that he was planning to corner her with some pointed questions very, very soon. 

That, she decided, would just have to wait—for now.

The cave was hidden in the thickest part of the forest, where only glimmers of sunlight made it through. Not that it mattered all that much; a light drizzle came upon them all as they made the rest of the way on foot, and the sky was rapidly darkening the more time passed. Soon, the weather began to reflect Kassandra’s mood—a gloom that clung to her soul, the more she thought about her captured friend.

Another girl, slightly older than the first, appeared at the entrance to the cave, a canopy of leaves covered over it. 

“Aspasia,” the older, taller girl said, stepping forward with a hand outstretched. In that hand was a rolled up scroll. A letter. Kassandra eyed it openly. 

“Anthousa sends her regards.”

*

The quarry was an old, forgotten thing indeed. 

Emptied of its value—marble, from the looks of it—the quarry appeared to be a former shell of what it used to be. The path down into the depths was rocky and unsteady, but Kassandra and Alexios kept pace with each other with practiced balance and dexterity. In the shade of the oncoming storm, the two had just enough cover to slip past the outer patrol of cultist soldiers unnoticed.

Their priority was the inner sanctum—no point causing a ruckus outside for nothing. Sokrates’ life was at stake, Kassandra’s mind constantly reminded her. It helped very little to stave off the anxiety marching in her blood, but on the other hand, it _ did _also quicken her movement.

At the bottom of the chasm was a gaping hole, leading further into the earth, now stripped bare of marble. It was like diving into the belly of a dead beast, Kassandra thought numbly.

Alexios remained close by her side, making not even the slightest sound with his own movement. They slipped in and out of shadow and torchlight, picking up on distant whispers deeper into the foreboding cavern.

The ground was sloping downwards now. It ended off in an abrupt cliff, where wooden flooring joined with a ladder down into the dark unknown.

Kassandra peered over the edge of it, and saw by way of faint torchlight that there were numerous cultist soldiers milling about, muttering amongst themselves. She couldn’t get a proper headcount—not when there were so many winding pathways. It was a man-made labyrinth, this seedy little operation; the men had partitioned off various sections of the cavern with wooden boards strung together as walls.

But the headcount mattered little when Kassandra saw what she was looking for: a brightly lit area with a familiar face, on his knees and tied to a pole.

“There.” She pointed. “I’m going in.”

“I’ll take out the patrols and cover you,” Alexios drew his bow. 

And down she went. Kassandra took out whichever unfortunate cultist soldier crossed her path, swiftly and silently. She heard the faint hiss of arrows slicing through the air as she moved closer to where they were interrogating Sokrates; she could hear the rough gravel of a man’s voice, loaded with questions about the whereabouts of the Eagle Bearer and her “captives.”

Alexios had probably dropped from his vantage point by now, to clean up the rest. Kassandra leaped out of the shadows and into the firelight with her spear and dagger brandished, and neatly lodged them into the neck and skull of Sokrates’ interrogator. She didn’t mind the blood as much as she minded the state of her friend, bruised in the face and bleeding from a fresh cut on his lip.

“Kassandra,” Sokrates breathed, eyes shining with relief.

She kicked aside the dead cultist and moved to free Sokrates from his bonds. As he stood up, he couldn’t help but lean into her out of fatigue.

“I’ve got you. Come on—we have to go.”

“Wait—” Sokrates pointed in the direction of another section of the cavern. “We must search this place. Kleon comes here. Often.”

The opening in the wall gave way to another room, furnished with a table and chair. The table surface, from what she could tell from here, was covered with plenty of parchment and items. It seemed there was still something here to be mined.

“I’ll wait here with him,” Alexios said, suddenly materialising out of nowhere. Kassandra had gotten used to it by now, the way her brother moved without a sound, but Sokrates startled slightly.

The siblings exchanged glances, and Alexios nodded as he moved to Sokrates’ side. “Make it quick.”

The Eagle Bearer could not have listened more closely. The air in the cavern was oppressive and heavy, and she needed Hippokrates to take a look at Sokrates as soon as possible.

The makeshift office was clearly Kleon’s. Kassandra rummaged through his things, sweeping parchment onto the floor until something caught her eye: a letter written in a strange hand, with Persian coins gleaming ominously in the firelight.

_ Seeing as Kosmos is in dire straits, I will send a detachment of men from the Order to assist with your efforts in taking down the Eagle Bearer and the Ghost. We shall make our approach from Makedonia down to the mainland. Do not disappoint the Persians yet another time. We are watching with great interest. _

_ A _

Kassandra clutched this close to her chest, and stuffed it away beneath her armor. When she emerged from the inner room, Alexios met her gaze and seemed to read her too easily.

“What did you find?”

“Persians,” Kassandra said in hushed tones. “Kleon is working with a Persian order of some sort, and they’ve sent men into Greece.”

Alexios’ eyes narrowed. “The Order of the Ancients. So they haven’t abandoned Kleon after all.”

“You know them?”

“Distantly.” Alexios allowed Sokrates to put his arm around his neck and beckoned for Kassandra to lead the way back out. “Though the last time I spied on their meeting, the leader named Amorges seemed displeased with Kleon. I think he intends to make a move himself, now.”

“A move to do what, exactly?”

“I don’t know. World domination?”

“Kosmos, but a different face,” Sokrates supplied weakly. “This is troubling indeed. We must inform the others.”

Kassandra exchanged glances with Alexios. _ Aspasia would know them, too, then, _she thought. 

The secret letter weighed heavier than it should have. Kassandra carried its weight in silence, with her brother and Sokrates close behind. When they emerged, a rainstorm was beating down on the earth in full force. The cultists that had been on patrol were now nowhere to be seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M STILL ON IT, I AM!!! Might double back and do a mass edit, as one does.


End file.
